The iron gates of the subway station creaked open as I pushed through the morning crowd. My shoulder bag, heavy with textbooks, swung against my hip in rhythm with the shuffling mass of bodies.

“You’ll be late again, Mei,” a familiar voice called out. It was Lin, my childhood friend, leaning against the station wall with his usual knowing smile.

“The trains are always late anyway,” I replied, trying to mask my breathlessness.

The platform was a sea of black suits and school uniforms. Lin and I found our usual spot - the third pillar from the stairs. We’d been meeting here every morning since high school started, watching the iron serpents slide in and out of the station.

“Did you dream about it again?” Lin asked, his eyes fixed on the electronic board displaying arrival times.

I nodded. The same dream had been haunting me for weeks: an empty train car, iron seats gleaming under fluorescent lights, and a strange figure sitting at the far end, always just out of focus.

“Maybe it means something,” Lin mused. “Like those stories in your Murakami books.”

The approaching train’s rumble drowned out my response. As usual, we squeezed into the crowded car, shoulders pressed against strangers, hands gripping cold iron handles.

But today was different.

Through the forest of bodies, I spotted something impossible - the figure from my dreams, sitting in the corner seat, reading a book with a faded red cover. My heart stopped.

“Lin,” I whispered, tugging his sleeve. “Look.”

He followed my gaze, but his expression remained neutral. “Look at what?”

The figure lifted its head, and for a moment, our eyes met. I saw myself, but older, wearier, holding the same book I’d lost five years ago on my first train ride to school.

“You really can’t see…” I trailed off as the train lurched to a stop.

The doors opened, and the figure stood up, leaving the red book on the seat. Without thinking, I pushed through the crowd, ignoring Lin’s calls.

The book was warm to the touch, its pages filled with handwritten notes in my distinctive scrawl - notes I hadn’t written yet.

“Mei!” Lin’s voice seemed distant. “The doors are closing!”

I looked up, but the figure was gone, dissolved into the iron and glass maze of the station. The book in my hands felt heavier than my entire school bag.

“What happened?” Lin asked when I returned to my spot. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I opened the book to show him, but the pages were blank now, fresh and untouched. Only a single line remained on the first page:

“The iron dreams of youth never rust.”

Lin peered at the empty page. “There’s nothing there, Mei.”

I closed the book and smiled, watching our reflection in the window - two teenagers in a crowded train, heading towards a future that might already be written in invisible ink.

Or maybe not written at all.