I'd always prided myself on being punctual. It's the little things, you know? Arriving on time, sticking to a routine—it's a way to tell myself that I'm in control. In a world so unpredictable, sometimes control is the only thing that makes me feel grounded. Today, like any other, I was making my way home from work, the clock on my wrist ticking down to the moment when I'd catch the last train. 11:45 PM. Just enough time to grab a coffee, listen to a podcast, and lose myself in the night.

The station was busier than usual, but that's not unusual for a Friday night. People rushing about, meeting friends, heading out on their weekend adventures. But for me, it was just the end of a long workweek. A routine I could practically do with my eyes closed. I was just another commuter, blending in with the crowd.

It was only when I got to the platform that I noticed something was… different. The train was already waiting there, its lights shining brightly against the darkened station. The doors were open, but the car seemed emptier than usual. I didn't think much of it. Maybe the city had emptied out faster tonight, or maybe the train was running early. Either way, it didn't matter. It was my ride home.

I boarded, finding an empty seat by the window. The cool night air felt refreshing as I slid into the seat, the hum of the train filling the air as we started to move. The city's lights flickered past, and for a moment, everything felt normal again. But even as I sat there, something gnawed at the back of my mind. A feeling, almost like… like I wasn't supposed to be on this train.

It was probably just stress from the week, I thought. Or maybe I was just tired. I leaned my head back against the cool window, closing my eyes for a second. Just a moment to breathe.

When I opened them again, there was someone sitting across from me. A man, dressed in a dark suit with a fedora pulled low over his face. His posture was perfect—too perfect, almost like he wasn't sitting at all, but instead hovering just above the seat. The unsettling thing? I couldn't remember hearing him sit down. It was as though he had just appeared.

I blinked, confused. I looked around, but the train car was still empty besides the two of us. I didn't know what to do. I should say something, ask if he was lost or what he was doing here, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. The air between us felt thick, like something important was happening, though I didn't understand what.

He lifted his head, just enough so I could see his eyes. Dark, almost as if they were swallowing the light around him. His gaze locked with mine, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. There was something familiar about him, but I didn't know why.

His lips parted, his voice barely a whisper. "Do you know why you're here?"

I wasn't sure if I should answer, but I nodded. "I'm just going home. It's been a long day." I managed to say, trying to convince myself as much as him. The words felt hollow as they left my lips. The unease in my chest grew heavier, a gnawing sensation I couldn't shake.

He smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was cold, calculating, like he knew something I didn't. Something I couldn't understand. "You're not going home. Not yet."

I frowned. "What do you mean? This is my stop. I'm fine."

"You think it's your stop?" His voice was low, almost a whisper against the rattling of the train. "You think you're in control? You think you have the power to choose? To decide where you go?"

I felt my stomach tighten. "What are you talking about?"

His smile didn't waver. "You're already on the path. You've been on it all along. You just haven't seen it yet."

The train lurched suddenly, and I gripped the armrest, trying to steady myself. My heart was racing now, the uncertainty creeping up like a cold shadow. I had to get off. I had to get off this train.

But then the train came to an abrupt halt.

I looked out the window. There was no station. No platform. Just an endless stretch of darkness. The city's lights were gone. The world outside the train felt… wrong. Distant. Like something had shifted, but I couldn't place it.

My pulse quickened. My breath shallow. I turned to the man. "What's going on? Why did we stop? Where are we?"

But he didn't respond. Instead, he just stared at me. And then he spoke again, his voice low and deliberate.

"You've already met your fate. It's been set. You're not going anywhere. Not anymore."

My heart hammered in my chest, and panic set in. I tried to move, to stand, but my body wouldn't obey. It was as if I was rooted to the seat, unable to do anything but watch as the man across from me stood up, his movements deliberate, unnaturally smooth.

"You won't be getting off this train. Not now. Not ever."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But the world around me was fading, the edges of my vision blurring as the train began to move again, faster this time, plunging into the darkness. I couldn't tell where it was taking me. All I knew was that I wasn't in control anymore. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't escape.

The last thing I saw was the man's cold, empty eyes. And then… nothing.

The train moved on.

You see, Lena—yes, Lena Davis, the one whose life you just read—was never meant to have control. You think you know the world around you, the train of your life clicking along the tracks, but you don't. You're all just passengers, much like her. You sit there, unaware, thinking you're in charge. But the truth is, the track was laid long before you ever boarded.

And for Lena, the end was never a question of if but when. Fate doesn't care about your choices. It doesn't care about your timing. It just moves, inexorably, dragging you toward your end.

You're all headed to the same place, whether you can see it or not. Sooner or later, you'll meet your fate, just like Lena did. It's just a matter of time.