We walk slowly, our steps coordinated, as if we had always been close. We walk side by side towards the train station, the streets around us are full of hustle and bustle, but it seems as if there is only us. A man who has known me for only a few days believes in me more than anyone has ever believed in me. Ironic, isn't it? How strange life is. How unpredictable.
I stare ahead of me, but at the same time I feel his gaze on me. There is no doubt, no hesitation - just that unwavering faith that seems almost unbelievable to me.
"Why?" I ask, without looking towards him.
"Why what?" he answers with a slight smile in his voice.
"Why do you believe in me?" I feel vulnerable, like I've said something I shouldn't have.
He stops and I instinctively do the same. When I turn to him, I see that he is watching me with that warm, penetrating gaze that always finds a way through my masks.
"Because I see who you are," he says simply. "And who you will become."
My heart stops for a moment.
We walk in silence to the train, each lost in our own thoughts. When we reach the platform, we sit down on the cold metal seats.
I watch the lights flicker in the distance and the darkness spread around us. Everything is the same, yet I sense that something is different.
It is as if something has shifted inside me.
I don't know if it's his words or the moment itself - that brief, intangible insight that changes the way I see the world.
Suddenly I feel lighter somehow, like I have let go of something I have been carrying around for too long.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye.
He is sitting next to me, relaxed, with a slight smile, as if he understands something I cannot yet articulate.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask quietly.
He stays silent for a moment, then murmurs, "That you have more power in you than you think."
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Maybe he is right.
Beginnings are scary, especially if you're me - someone who clings to the familiar, who doesn't like change and is even less comfortable with novelty.
Every new thing throws me off balance, like I'm walking a tightrope over a precipice, with no guarantee that anyone will catch me if I fall.
Yet here I am.
I am sitting on the train, with him by my side, and instead of running away, I stay.
Maybe because his presence calms me.
Maybe because this moment is different from all the previous ones.
I look at him as if expecting an answer to questions I have not yet dared to ask.
But he just smiles and, leaning slightly towards me, says:
"Change is not necessarily bad."
I do not know why I believe him.
But I do.
"I know," I reply quietly, almost inaudibly, as if the word itself has a weight I am not yet ready to carry.
I look at the floor, then back to him.
There is no pressure in his gaze, no expectation - just patience and something I cannot yet articulate.
![Here We Stand [H.S] by SJ_Storiesxo](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/323737762-80-k650401.jpg)
I sigh and sit closer. "But that doesn't mean I'm not afraid," I add.
"Of course you are," he says. "If you weren't, it wouldn't mean enough to you."
I catch his gaze and for a moment I feel like I understand.
"You are the first person to whom I really admit that I am afraid of change and new things, that I don't fit in a new environment...", I reply, feeling my anxiety slowly wrap around my neck like an arm.
The air becomes thicker, as if the world around me is shrinking.
My heart is beating too fast, my palms are cold but sweaty.
I look at him, not knowing what to expect.
Will he smile? Will he say something reassuring? Or will he just sit there and let me deal with this feeling on my own?
But he doesn't look away.
He just nods, as if he is not surprised by my words.
"You know," he starts slowly, "we're all scared. We just have to learn to hide it better."
I take a deep breath. I try to catch the air that is escaping me, try to believe his words. But the fear doesn't go away immediately. It never goes away immediately.
The train pulls into the station and I hear the squeak of wheels on the tracks.
The lights of the train bounce off the glass windows, and for a moment I see my reflection - slightly blurred, as if I'm not quite sure who I am at this moment.
"But you're still here," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking to him or to myself.
The train stops, the doors open with a jolt and cooler air rushes into the platform.
People get on and off in a hurry, but we stay put, as if time is not moving for us.
"But you're still here," I repeat, this time a little louder, as if to check if it's true.
He looks at me - that look that says more than words.
"You know, Izzy," he says softly, his voice almost blending in with the gentle noise of the train.
"Everyone carries their own battles. Everyone has fears, mistakes, downfalls. Some battles we may never win, but still we hope - we hope that something will turn for the better, that the story will end differently, that we will succeed." His words remain in the air, heavy and true.
We slowly get off the train, the night is cold and silent around us.
I follow him wordlessly until I reach the taxi, where I sit down next to him without a second thought.
As the car pulls away, I look out of the window, my thoughts still echoing to the rhythm of his words.
We are silent during the taxi ride.
The roads are wet from a light rain, and the streetlights cast reflections on the asphalt.
I watch the drops on the window as they merge and creep down in random patterns - as if they have a path of their own, unpredictable, yet inevitable.
I am so afraid of tomorrow.
I can feel the anxiety crawling under my skin, wrapping itself around my ribs and squeezing until I run out of breath.
But at the same time, I know - I cannot change anything.
The minutes will tick by, the hours will tick by, tomorrow will come like any other day and it will go just like any other day.
