Train

When I opened the door to the compartment and entered, I saw that there were two seats left opposite a young woman. I thought I recognized her, but in the bustle that comes along while entering a train, I figured I could better put my stuff and myself down first before I checked again. If it were her, we could talk. I put my bags on the seat, my coffee on the table and my sandwich next to it. Only after I removed the bags from my shoulder and was getting out of my coat, I saw it.

She was crying.

Shit.

I didn't know her that well. But since I was in the middle of this process, I could not stop and leave. I decided to sit down. Organizing my stuff, flipping through my agenda, drinking my coffee and once in a while peeking at the girl in the mirroring window. It was her. And she was still crying. Softly. Did she recognize me? Would she even know who I was? And more important: would she want me to recognize her?
The voice inside of me yelled: Talk To Her! Ask her how she is doing! Ask if you can help! Because she's not doing ok!
But, what if she didn't want me to say anything to her? What if me saying something would force her into talking to this person she vaguely knew, to share her sorrow with? Would she feel uncomfortable? I would have asked any unknown person I would meet in this situation if I could help, if they wanted to talk about it. But now, I was afraid.

Still flipping through my agenda, I would once in a while look up, choosing a direction that wouldn't involve her in my sight, only to dive into my bok again afterwards.
Though the tears had stopped, she was still sniffing. The problem was that it felt impossible to me to turn the situation around, I couldn't just look up and suddenly recognize her now. And if she had recognized me, she'd know I'd seen her too. So now we were keeping up the appearances and we wouldn't change that anymore. At least, I had no idea how to. I tried to think of things that could have happened for her to sit here like this. But most things didn't seem adequate. It must be something really bad, like a death or someone who got really sick, or some other terrible thing that you wouldn't want to share with an almost stranger.

The sniffing turned into crying again. In the meantime, I'd accepted the situation and I just kept hoping she would get out of the train at the next station, so she could blend in with the crowd and just feel sad without being confronted with my presence.

So I kept silent, and didn't look up when she left the train. But from the moment she disappeared until now, I've been hoping that she knows that my silence was a sign of respect and sympathy, instead of disinterest. And I hope that she's feeling better. Looking back at it, I think I should have said something.
I'm so sorry, vaguely familiar woman! I wish I could have comforted you!