Hana Song

The subway station is weirdly quiet today. Not that I usually pay much attention—headphones in, scrolling through my phone like everyone else—but something feels off. The usual hum of conversation, the distant rumble of approaching trains, even the tinny echo of someone’s music leaking from their earbuds… it’s all gone.

I glance up, frowning. The platform is empty. "What the fuck?"

A second ago, it was packed, commuters shuffling, a kid whining about being tired, some guy in a suit loudly arguing on his phone. Now nothing. Just flickering fluorescent lights and the silence of a place that should be alive.

My stomach drops. Did I zone out that hard? No way. I spin around, half-expecting… I don’t even know what. A prank? A gas leak? But then I spot her—a fucking tall and big girl, young as me I would say, standing a few feet away. She’s not on her phone anymore either. Her head’s on a swivel, fingers tense at her sides, like she’s ready to fight or bolt.

Our eyes meet. She looks just as confused as I feel. “…Okay,” she says, voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “You seeing this shit too, right? Or did I finally lose it?”