“One Minute” 

A Creative Writing Flash Fiction by Miu Yamazaki 

---

Each day, many people passed under me.

Some laughed with their friends. Others walked while sighing quietly. A few rushed past without even looking up. Some people stopped and stared at the tracks for a long time.

One day, a student in a school uniform ran across the platform in tears.

People passed by like nothing was happening.

I was reminded that time never stops.

 

People were all different.

For me, time was simple. One minute was always sixty seconds. It never became longer or shorter. But people never seemed to feel time the same way.

Through rain and wind, I watched them from the same place.

Before I noticed her, every morning felt the same to me. I just counted seconds and watched people pass by.
 

Then one day, one person caught my attention.

She always took the 8:15 train. Every morning, she came to the platform carrying a red bag and a cup of coffee.

While waiting for the train, she always looked up at me once.

At first, she was just another person passing by. But after a while, mornings did not feel the same when she was not there.

 

Whenever I saw her red bag in the crowd, it felt like the usual morning had returned.

　　　　I did not know why.

　　　　I was only a clock.

Still, the station seemed a little brighter on the mornings she came.

One day, she was talking on the phone and laughing quietly.

“Okay. I understand. Tonight, then.”

Even though the station was noisy, her voice stayed in my mind.

But one morning, she seemed different.

Her eyes were red, and she was not carrying her usual coffee. She stood quietly, waiting for the train without looking up at me.

All I could do was keep moving my hands.

　　　　I could not stop time.

　　　　I could not change anything.

All I could do was watch from the same place.

And yet, the next morning, I found myself looking toward the ticket gates again.

Somehow, I started remembering the time she usually came.

Some days she smiled. Other days, she waited silently for the train.

On snowy days, she came to the platform at the same time.

There was a little snow on her red bag.

She looked cold as she waited for the train, but she still looked up at me once.

 

I had started waiting for her too.

It was always the same morning, the same station, and the same time, but she seemed a little different every day.

I started thinking about people and time.

 

Then one morning, she did not come.

 

I looked toward the ticket gates again and again, but the red bag never appeared.

Not the next day.

Or the day after that.

How much time had passed since then?

The platform was still crowded as always. The announcements, footsteps, and train sounds were all the same.

Time felt slower than before.

A single minute felt strangely long.

Spring came, and cherry blossoms started to fall. One day, she came back to the station.

 

The moment I saw her red bag beyond the ticket gates, I almost forgot to move my hands.

But beside her stood a man I had never seen before.

She looked up at him and smiled softly.

For some reason, that smile stayed in my mind longer than anything else.

A train slid into the platform.

The doors opened, and people rushed inside.

As she stepped toward the train, she suddenly looked up.

And for one brief moment, she smiled at me.

That was the moment.

For the first time, I wanted to stop.

I did not want that moment to end.

The train doors closed.

The departure bell rang across the platform.