Beneath the metro’s twilight hum,
I stood where all the strangers come.
My voice was low, my fingers tight
Around a phone that lit the night.
She spoke — the girl I’d never met,
Whose voice had warmed each day we’d yet
To bridge the miles from screen to skin,
A year apart, but close within.
A village boy from Bengal's rain,
I came by train, through fear and strain.
She hailed from cities far and wide,
A nurse, on duty, time denied.
But just today, for half an hour,
She’d slip from work’s unyielding tower,
And meet me by this concrete gate,
Where pulse and platform danced with fate.
“Gate Four,” I said. “I’m here. Waiting.”
She whispered back, “I see you. Wait.”
My eyes spun fast through faces blurred,
My chest beat loud with love unheard.
Then there she stood — not far, but near,
In steps that wiped away the year.
I thought, “She’s tall.” My throat went dry.
But closer now — we matched in eye.
She didn’t speak — just took my hand,
And led me through this foreign land.
Across the road, beneath the sky,
Our silence hummed a soft reply.
She bought me food — a chicken thigh.
(Though she eats none. I wondered why.)
We sat, she watched, I tried to speak —
But time was short and words were weak.
“I have to go,” she said at last.
And just like that, the moment passed.
No kiss, no vow, no sweeping song —
Just fingers held a moment long.
She turned and walked back to the light,
A nurse again in white and night.
And I — I rode the metro home,
Still feeling less alone, alone.
That evening, after duties done,
We typed the things we’d left unsung.
And somewhere in that crowded thread,
She softly said, “You held my hand.”
The clock moved on. The dreams, they stayed.
A new day dawned, but I replayed
That half an hour — a fleeting grace
When time stood still, and I saw her face.
- THE END -
© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
This poem is about me meeting my lover after a year of our online romance - just half an hour, one held hand, and no words wasted.
