It was past midnight when Nneka boarded the last train out of the city. The platform was empty, the announcement boards were blank, and the train itself had no number. Still, the doors opened, and she stepped in.

Inside, the seats were velvet red, polished but old, as though no one had sat in them for decades. Only a handful of passengers were scattered across the carriages, silent, unmoving, their faces hidden in the dim glow.

She tried to ask the conductor for her stop, but he simply stamped her ticket with a symbol she didn’t recognize, an infinity sign with a crack down the middle.

The train started moving. Fast. Too fast. The city blurred into nothing but darkness outside the window. Her phone had no service, no clock. She felt the speed, yet somehow the train never seemed to arrive anywhere.

One by one, passengers began disappearing. Not leaving, disappearing. She blinked, and the man with the hat was gone. The woman with the suitcase vanished mid-breath. Only their tickets remained, fluttering on the seats.

Her heart raced. She stood to pull the emergency brake, but there was none. The conductor appeared at her side without walking. He leaned down and whispered: “There’s only one stop left.”

She demanded to know where. He smiled faintly. “The place you tried to forget.”

At the final tunnel, the windows flickered like a broken film reel. Instead of darkness, she saw flashes, her childhood home, her mother’s funeral, the night she almost drowned, the accident she swore never happened.

The train screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and outside was no city, no station, only a mirror stretching into infinity. In the reflection, Nneka saw herself as a passenger who had never boarded, someone who had died years ago but never accepted it.

The conductor bowed. “Your journey ends where it began.”

The doors closed. The train pulled away, now completely empty.

It was past midnight when Nneka boarded the last train out of the city. The platform was empty, the announcement boards were blank, and the train itself had no number. Still, the doors opened, and she stepped in.

Inside, the seats were velvet red, polished but old, as though no one had sat in them for decades. Only a handful of passengers were scattered across the carriages, silent, unmoving, their faces hidden in the dim glow.

She tried to ask the conductor for her stop, but he simply stamped her ticket with a symbol she didn’t recognize, an infinity sign with a crack down the middle.

The train started moving. Fast. Too fast. The city blurred into nothing but darkness outside the window. Her phone had no service, no clock. She felt the speed, yet somehow the train never seemed to arrive anywhere.

One by one, passengers began disappearing. Not leaving, disappearing. She blinked, and the man with the hat was gone. The woman with the suitcase vanished mid-breath. Only their tickets remained, fluttering on the seats.

Her heart raced. She stood to pull the emergency brake, but there was none. The conductor appeared at her side without walking. He leaned down and whispered: “There’s only one stop left.”

She demanded to know where. He smiled faintly. “The place you tried to forget.”

At the final tunnel, the windows flickered like a broken film reel. Instead of darkness, she saw flashes, her childhood home, her mother’s funeral, the night she almost drowned, the accident she swore never happened.

The train screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and outside was no city, no station, only a mirror stretching into infinity. In the reflection, Nneka saw herself as a passenger who had never boarded, someone who had died years ago but never accepted it.

The conductor bowed. “Your journey ends where it began.”

The doors closed. The train pulled away, now completely empty.