It was late at night, and the small train station was almost empty. Only a few lights flickered above the benches, casting long shadows on the ground. Evan sat quietly, holding a small backpack onhis lap. He had missed the last train home. For a moment, but something in the cold air made him stay awake. Across the platform, an old man was playing a harmonica. The tune was soft, a little sad, but comforting. Evan smiled slightly. "Nice song," he said. The old man looked up and nodded. "It's an old tune," he said. "My wife used to love it." They talked for a while - about trains, about lost chances, about people they missed. And though they were strangers, the silence between them felt peaceful. When the first train came in the morning, Evan stood up and said goodbye. The old man waved with a gentle smile. Evan stepped into the rain, feeling lighter than before - as if one night at an empty station had somehow reminded him that even loneliness could be shared. The train moved slowly through the misty fields. Evan sat by sky with soft orange and pink. He couldn't stop thinkingabout the old man - the way his wrinkled hands moved with the harmonica, the way his eyes shone when he mentioned his wife. Evan wondered what story the man carried, what kind of love lasted that long. He reached into his pocket and found a small folded note - the old man must've slipped it in when they shook hands. It read: "Evan journey is a chance to forgive yourself. Don't wait for the right train - make your own path." Evan smiled. He didn't know what the note truly meant, but somehow, it felt like an answer to something deep inside him. As the train approached the city, he took a deep breath. Maybe it was time to start again - to call the people he hadn't spoke to in months, to take chances he had been afraid of. He closed like the harmonica's melody, and whispered, "Thank you, old man."