Bound To Yesterday

Hans walks through the streets that are familiar to him no matter where. Whether in the city, hills, or forests. One notable thing is that the air is always dim. Night or day, it is always cool and calm. And there she would be—Emily, standing in the corner where they used to meet. Her smile radiated warmth, and her eyes sparkled with the memories of their past love. Each time he laid eyes on her, his heart ached—torn between the sweetness of joy and the sting of longing. 

That often happens. While he was sleeping and in every dream, she never spoke. She doesn't have to. She would hold out her hand, and Hans would take it, feeling the warmth of her skin and the softness of her touch. They would walk in silence, side by side, as if nothing had changed. 

Hans knows it's not real. It never is. Hans knew that. The dream would always end the same way—Emily would disappear, like the sun consumed by twilight, leaving him alone again— trapped in the cold reality of waking life. 

Five years since her passing and not a day goes by without her in his mind. His love for her was deep, a love that could not be broken by time, distance, or death. But her absence is a wound that refuses to heal, a constant pain in his soul. 

He had tried to move on—tried to find, tried to meet new people—but no one could replace her. How can they? She had become his everything, his soul mate, twin flame, whatever they name it and the void she left behind was too vast to fill. He still talks to her sometimes, as if she is next to him, and in his dreams, she is. Every time she visited, he begged her not to wake him up—not to leave him again. 

It was after one of those restless nights that he found himself on a midnight train. 

Hans had been walking through town, lost in Emily's thoughts when a train appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It was an ancient steam engine, its black carriage gleaming in the moonlight. There are no stations, no platforms—merely a train sitting quietly on the track. 

Hans stepped on without a second thought. The door sealed shut with a gentle hiss, and the train began to glide into the shadows. Inside, the lighting was low, casting a warm glow over the aged wooden chairs that, though weathered, offered a cosy embrace. He settled into a seat by the window, gazing out at the thick fog that enveloped the train, as if it were a living entity consuming everything in its path. 

He is not alone. There were a few others on board, lost in their thoughts. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with something Hans couldn't place. It wasn't just the strange silence of the passengers—it was the train itself. It felt like... life was watching him, waiting for something. 

The conductor appeared, his presence disturbing. Dressed in a dark suit, his face was pale, almost like a ghost.

“Where are you going?” He asked, though there was no kindness in his voice, just an eerie calm. 

“I don't know,” answered Hans, his voice hollow. “I'm looking for someone.” 

The conductor's eyes twinkled with something—pity, perhaps. “Many of us,” he said. “But this train only takes you where you need to go, not where you want to go.” 

Hans frowned. “I don't care where I have to go. I'll be where she is. She is my journey and that’s the destination. My destination.”

The conductor paused, his gaze fixed on Hans' exhausted face. “Sometimes, the things we hold on to keep us from moving forward.” 

Hans didn't answer. He didn't want to move forward. He doesn't want to forget. All he wanted was Emily. 

The train sped through the night, its rhythmic rumble lulling the passengers into a trance-like state. Hans felt the pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy. And as he had experienced so many times before, dreams took over. 

Emily was there, waiting for him. A familiar smile greeted him as he reached for his hand. But this time, there was something different in her eyes—a sadness, a calm appeal. He walked with her, but her pace was slower, almost unwilling. Hans' heart ached to hold her, but when he tried, she slipped away, out of reach. 

“Why do you keep leaving me?” He asked, his voice breaking. 

Emily stopped and turned to him, her expression soft but serious. For the first time, she spoke. “I will not leave you, Hans. You're the one holding it.” 

The words hit him like a blow. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “No. I can't lose you again. I—” 

“You didn't lose me,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I will always be with you. But you can't stay here forever.” 

Tears filled Hans' eyes. “I don't want to wake up. I don't want to come back to life without you.” 

Emily reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “You have to let go. It's time for you to move on.” 

Dreams began to blur, images flickering as the world around them began to fade away. Hans reaches for it, desperate to hold on, but she's already gone. 

“Please, don't go,” he whispered. 

Her voice was soft and faded. “I will always be in your heart, Hans. But you have to live.” 

With those last words, the dream was shattered, and Hans awoke to the sound of train brakes screeching as the car came to an abrupt halt. The car was still; the fog outside was thick and impenetrable. The conductor appeared again, standing in front of the door. 

“This is your stop,” he said quietly. 

Hans looked out the window, confusion and hurt swirling in his chest. He didn't want to leave or face the reality of sober life, but something in Emily's words stayed with him. Slowly, he stood up and walked towards the door, his steps heavy. 

As he got off the train, the fog parted, revealing a quiet street bathed in the soft light of dawn. The world seemed brighter and lighter, even though the pain in his chest was still there. 

He wasn't sure where to go, but as he took the first step forward, he realised something. Emily never really left him. He was still with her in every memory, every moment they shared. And as much as it hurt, he knew she wanted him to live, to find peace, even without her by his side. 

The train disappears into the fog, leaving Hans alone on the empty road. For the first time in years, he felt the burden of his grief begin to lift, just a little. 

And when the sun came up, he knew he would be fine. 

Just fine.