I remain on one corner of the seat, and he remains on the other.

In contrast to a few minutes ago, the distance between us feels like a Jeremiah river apart, a suffocating tension hovering over the air of this seat.

Mr. Harold is asleep, so I can't talk to him. It is a good thing that we are only less than half an hour or so away from Greenwoods Train Station, and hopefully July and I will become normal in the rush of finding a place to stay at night.

After an announcement in the intercom, the train starts to slow down. Murmurs and shuffling commence in our carriage, as those who will get off in this station prepare their luggages. I bring my bag from between me and July to my lap, giving him an awkward glance as I do. Some people from the back start walking through the aisle to the front, but I remain seated. One man's butt starts to rub against my arm, and July pulls my other arm, gesturing with his eyes to come closer. He distastefully glares at that man, who is either completely unaware, or is just pretending. I move away, heavily uncomfortable. July pats my back assuringly. In the commotion, Mr. Harold's slumber breaks, and he wakes up with a start.

"Are you getting off this station, son?" he asks me.

I smile and nod.

"Ah, looks like I will be all alone again." He laughs, looking out the window to the busy station.

"Someone else will come along," I say.

"Not all companies are pleasurable."

"Having a company is better than not having one."

At this, he smiles, his wrinkles becoming more defined. He fixes his glasses and peers outside. Then he says, "If that ain't true."

We don't say any formal goodbyes or anything, just smiles and nods, which is probably enough for two people who have only known each other for a few hours and will never cross paths ever again. I wonder how long I will remember this Mr. Harold, who has made a cameo appearance in the movie of my life. I will probably remember him a little longer than most other cameos, only because of his lost hand, but someday, he will surely fade away from my mind forever.

I wonder, if the same thing will happen with July too.

"Ah, wait, Cedar!" Mr. Harold calls just as I am about to leave.

"Hmm?"

"Take this as a gift." He brings out a red object from his pocket and hands it to me.

I take it and find it to be a lighter. "Ah, I don't smoke, Mr. Harold."

He laughs. "That's not the only use of a lighter! But even if you don't use it, just keep it with you. Think of it as a token for our friendship."

"Okay, thank you." I smile one last time.

July walks ahead of me, his hand grabbing my shirt. There are still some people behind me. One man from the back urges me to walk ahead, but I stand my ground because I have to keep space for July. The man who is behind me tells that other man, "Have patience, dammit!"

I turn around and mutter a thanks to him. He only nods.

Finally, we get off the train.

The moment my feet touches the concrete platform of Greenwoods Train Station, a breath of fresh night air hits my face. I smile. Together with July, I walk over to a corner first.

I take a moment to look around. It definitely is very less crowded than the one back home. I expected to find loads of poor people sleeping on the floor or on the benches, but I don't see more than a handful of them. Of course, Greenwoods is not an unrbanized area, so the number of homeless population here is less. It's also terribly hot here. This town is located in one of the northernmost region of the country.

"So . . . are we gonna rest here?" July asks.

"I guess . . ." I half-heartedly reply. This station is less dirty than the city ones, that's for sure. But still, sleeping here . . .

"Okay, just go to the toilet first. It's over there." He points behind me.

I nod. "Shall I keep the bag here?" I can't imagine taking my precious bag filled with my precious belonging into the world of nitrogenous waste products and fecal materials.

"Yeah just keep it here. If someone tries to steal it, I'll take care of it."

So taking the name of God, I go to the station washroom. The men's and women's washrooms are side by side, separated by a wall. The devil in me accidentally steals a glance towards the women's washroom before heading to men's. I couldn't see anything but a row of basins, though. Not like I wanted to see anything.

Damn Cedar, stop.

I head to the urinals. I stand in front of one of them, but when I was about to unbuckle my belt, my eyes fall on a man three urinals away, who seems to be looking at me. He quickly glances away as soon as we make eye contact.

Oh my God.

I hate this. I decide to use a stall. Keeping my eyes on the ceiling and holding my breath, I finish my business. I hate this. I hate this so much. I clean myself with my eyes closed and then come out of the stall. This was the biggest struggle I have ever had to face.

I don't see the weird man while I wash my hands. Then I go back to July, who is sitting on a bench, my bag beside him.

"How was it?" he asks.

I sit down on the other side of the bag. "Don't ask," I tiredly reply.

He pats my shoulder. "The real world is hard, sweetheart. But on the bright side, I think I have found a better place to spend the night."

--------------------------

"The bus stand?"

Ten minutes walk away from the station, a bus stand sits empty and lonely. It is almost the same size as the one back home, except the one in our town is made of steel, while this one is probably made of cement. There is a shed above it as well to protect from the sun and rain. Another plus point is the lamppost right beside it, which will provide enough light for July to read or draw while I am asleep. The first bus is at 5 am, and I don't think anyone will have any business coming here before then, so we have enough time to stay here.

"Yep, isn't it perfect?" he asks.

"It is!"

The two of us go and sit there. The cemented surface is cold, probably because it rained a while back. Right in front of us is the bus stop sign, a red hexagon over a white stick. I keep my bag beside us. "This is perfect, July. Now allow me to pass out." I yawn and lean my back against the cold, hard backrest and close my eyes.

"Nopes, nopes." He shakes my shoulder and I open my eyes again. "You haven't had dinner."

I feel hunger grip my stomach, but sleep wins against it. "I'll skip it."

"Absolutely not!" he scolds. "You skipped breakfast. And you also didn't have lunch at school, did you?"

"How do you know that . . ."

"I've got to know you at least that much by now." He rolls his eyes. "Come on, there must be a diner or something nearby."

"I ate in the train."

"You ate a chocolate cake and a coffee, sweetheart."

"Let me just eat one of the snacks Edgar gave."

"No, those are for emergencies, in case we run out of money."

"Why are you saying such cursed sentences?"

"For God's sake, Cedar, get up!"

July and I argue more. I usually would just give up, but I really want to sleep right now. I want nothing else in this world. Just some sleep.

After a lot of grunts and sighs, we start walking. The forest extends on both sides, sleeping in the darkness. I only look straight ahead, afraid of catching something ominous amidst the thick mass of trees. The air smells green and fresh, devoid of exhaust fumes and other city odor. A strange quietness hovers in the air, and neither me nor July make an effort into conversation. Both of us are tired. My limbs are aching and I badly need some sleep. How many hours has it been again? Oh man, I can't even co–

"Cedar!" His hand grips my arm hard and jerks me to the side, and less than a second later, a car swishes past us. I begin to breathe heavily, watching the backlights of the car getting smaller. Then I look at July, who has a terrified expression on his face.

"Thank you," I breathe out.

He lets go of my arm and nods. We start walking again. I hear him mutter, "I actually saved a life . . ."

It wasn't hard to find a cheap restaurant to have dinner in. There are many around the train station for tourists. We select a small one beside the gas station and head in.

Though the restaurant is small, it is very crowded and busy. Waiters with no specific dress codes are walking in a fast speed from one table to another, their hands almost always occupied by plates and glasses and jugs. A haphazard remix of chatters and murmurs go on, accompanied by occasional bursts of laughter and the wailing sound of a particular baby. Spoons clatter against plate, glasses clink, chairs are pulled back and in, tables are joined together for larger families. I find myself not hating the atmosphere.

I occupy a table for four at one corner of the room, as I don't see any tables for two. July sits beside me. I start looking for the menu, but July tells me there are no menus. I give him a questioning look, and that's when a young boy walks up to us and asks for our order.

"What will you have, sir?" he asks, and the first thing I notice about him is his red-rimmed eyes. He is younger than me, probably around 12 or 13. Child labor. It exists, but I can't do anything about it. Before I could say anything, the boy says, "We have boiled rice, fried rice . . ." And he proceeds to narrate a long list of all the dishes they have, in a flawless speed without even stuttering once. I become so fascinated that I forget to listen to what he is saying. I only catch the first few foods he listed.

"Oh, uh . . ." I glance at July and back at the boy. "I'll have a . . .plate of fried rice and mixed veggies." Wow, I did much better this time. Probably because he's a kid.

The boy turns his head sideways and screams, "Plate of fried rice and mixed veggies!"

I look, to find an older boy raise his hand and scream back, "Plate of fried rice and mixed veggies coming!" So they communicate by screaming at each other.

Then the boy turns back to me and asks, "Anything else, sir?"

"Huh? Oh, w-water." I hear July snigger.

"Sure," the boy smiles and takes the jug on my table. Shit, I didn't notice the jug before. Oh God, why do I always make a fool out of myself every time I order food? The boy pours me a glass.

"Thank you," I say.

He gives me a surprised look. The he grins and says, "It must be your first time in a restaurant like this."

"Oh, yes."

He nods. "You're welcome." Then he heads over to some other table.

I look to July and think, This is all so different from a normal restaurant.

"I know, right?" He chuckles. "I ate in one of these when I went to the capital for my entrance exams. I prefer it more than the normal ones. The atmosphere here is so alive."

I agree.

So many new experiences in just a few hours.

It doesn't take me long to figure out why that boy was surprised at my word of gratitude. In one of the tables, a big, fat man starts to scold the boy using the most disgusting language, over something as small as a glass that was not properly cleaned. It is so much easier to just get a tissue and clean the glass yourself instead of breaking hell loose and yelling at the top of your lungs at a poor boy who should studying right now. Maybe he doesn't even go to school. I want nothing more than to go and intervene, but something tells me that will make the situation much worse for the boy than it already is.

The food comes about ten minutes later. For a moment, I stare in shock.

"Th-that much?" I stutter, looking at the boy.

"You ordered a plate, sir."

I scratch my neck. I should have ordered half plate. I decide to just deal with it and begin to eat, muttering another thanks to the boy, which he replies with a huge smile. I make a mental note to say another thanks to him before leaving, as he seems to love hearing it.

As soon as I start eating, I forget everything and eat like a monster. How come I didn't realize how hungry I was? Everything is super tasty. Or maybe that's just because I am very hungry.

"Slow down," July says, chuckling. "No one's stealing your— shit, Cedar, Cedar, look!" I look up from my plate to where he is pointing.

The table right in front of us is occupied by a big middle-aged man. He is shouting at someone on his phone with his head turned to his right. And a teenage boy just walked past the man's left side after smoothly pocketing a wallet placed on the table.

My heart paces up, and I do the first thing that comes to my mind. I stick out my leg from under my table, and the boy trips over it, falling on his cheek with a loud thud right beside my table.

I chew the rice as I tell him, "I don't think that's your wallet."

Action is taken immediately. A group of people who are probably the waiters come and drag the boy away, while the wallet is safely returned to the man. He walks over to our table and thanks us sincerely, saying that it's his daughter's birthday tomorrow, and he couldn't have had food with his family, let alone buy a gift if the money was stolen. The man's beard comes down to his chest, streaks of white visible here and there.

I feel a strange overwhelming feeling in my chest, probably from the happiness of helping someone. But perhaps, though I helped this person on one hand, I ruined the dinner of another person on the other hand. I wonder if that boy is gonna go somewhere else to steal, or starve for the night.

I finish eating, and it's time to pay. A different waiter comes up to my table for the money. I wish it was the little boy. I take my bag in my lap, and hunt for the money I placed on the small front pocket.

My fingers feel nothing.

I raise my head to July, and for a moment, we make eye contact. His look of confusion soon turns to disbelief.

"You're kidding me," he says.

I gulp.

He shakes his head. "Nopes. No. Absolutely not."

". . ."

"The money got stolen? On the first day?!"

I hate this.

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hello lovely readers!

hope you like this chapter. i have a feeling that my writing's become very bland for some reason. but im not too worried about it cuz it's the first draft and there aren't many readers right now.

lol the part where Cedar was using the bathroom, that's also from a real experience of mine. I was on a 12 hour journey by bus from Dhaka to Chittagong and we stopped in a gas station for using the bathroom. that day i wore a completely new pair of sneakers, and not to mention they were WHITE, and the bathroom was so fucking dirty 😭 i did everything with my eyes closed and just when i was about to come out, my shoe brushed against something brown (i'd like to think it was MUD pls) and MY BEAUTIFUL SNEAKERS WERE RUINED!

anyways, thanks a lot for reading!

— love, Poma