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At 11:47 p.m., Amara realized she was the only person left on the train.

She looked around. Empty seats. Dim lights. Rain sliding down the windows.

Then the announcement came.

“Next stop: Home.”

Amara frowned.

There was no station called Home.

The train slowed, and outside the window she saw a small version of her childhood street—the old bakery, the mango tree, even the blue gate of the house she had left ten years ago.

The doors opened.

Someone was standing on the platform.

It was her.

Not the Amara sitting on the train, but a younger version of herself, holding a schoolbag and staring directly at her.

The girl smiled.

“You finally came back.”

Before Amara could answer, the doors closed.

The train disappeared into the darkness.