The subway during rush hour is like a silent river, swallowing countless tired faces. I am used to standing in the middle of the third carriage because it is the closest to the exit and the easiest place to see the back view.
He always wears that dark gray jacket that has been washed white, with a slightly hunched back, and always carries a canvas bag with the logo of a certain chain supermarket in his hand. No matter how crowded the carriage is, he is like a quiet plant, not competing for seats, not squeezing the door, just gently swaying with the flow of people.
The first time I noticed him was on a rainy Tuesday. He stood in the corner, the canvas bag was wet in one corner, but it was tightly protected. I instinctively moved to the side to make some dry space for him. He didn’t turn back, just turned slightly to express his gratitude.
Later, this silhouette became a fixed scenery on my commute. Sometimes he disappears at the transfer station and reappears a few days later; Sometimes he would have an extra bundle of bellflower stems wrapped in newspaper in his hand, with slightly wilted petal edges but a gentle color. I guess he went to the flower market to purchase goods or to bring flowers to someone.
Once I worked overtime until very late, and only the two of us were left on the last bus. He leaned against the armrest, with a canvas bag at his feet, nodding off bit by bit. I looked at the white hair exposed on his neck and suddenly felt that the city wasn’t that cold either.
That day, I inexplicably sat down across from him. When he woke up, he was stunned for a moment, then nodded at me and took out a mint candy from his canvas bag, gently placing it beside me. Sugar paper is light green, like spring.
Thank you, “I whispered.
A recurring silhouette
He didn’t say anything, just smiled. His smile was shallow, but like the platform lights passing by the window, it flickered and warmed up.
Later on, I changed jobs and no longer sat on this line. Occasionally, when I think of that silhouette, I instinctively touch my pocket, as if I can still feel the coolness of that mint.
Until last month, I saw that dark gray jacket again during the morning rush hour on another line. He stood in the crowd, his canvas bag changed to a new one, but the wording remained the same, slightly folded inward, as if protecting something.
I didn’t approach to say hello. I just watched him quietly for a few seconds, separated by a few rows of heads.
Some people do not need to know each other or say goodbye. They just tell you in a silent way on your most tired morning: Look, no matter how crowded this train is, there will always be someone walking with you in the same direction.
We’ve arrived at the station. He walked out with the crowd, his figure gradually merging into the gray sky.
I lowered my head and gently peeled off the mint candy in my pocket that I had been reluctant to eat.
The wind came in from the car door, with a hint of green grass smell.
I suddenly feel that today will also be a good day.
