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The girl on the train had a nostalgic look and an air of sadness on her face.
For long minutes the girl watched the landscape pass by the window at breakneck speed, as if flying through the clouds that covered the sky or crying with the drops that fell when it rained.
We coincided every day in the morning and as if by magic also in the evening when I came home from work.
A week later I managed to sit next to him but that did not change his habit of being absent amidst the noise of the voices that at times could be heard in the place.
When she touched land he evaporated among the letters of a book of poems, which I deduced was written in Japanese and contrasted with his Asian features.
Like a Swiss watch he would arrive at the same time and sit in the usual seat ignoring me.
I thought of different hypotheses about his silence and the one I thought was fair was that he did not know my language, however I was not very convinced since in that case I would not be able to buy tickets on the means of transportation.
The truth of the matter is that she kept me company in my comings and goings and her soft and exotic perfume, like herself, began to be part of my life.
After a month I dared to ask him.
-What is your name?
She looked at me with eyes as clear as the sun and did not answer me but for the first time I felt that he had noticed my presence.
A fortnight later I was surprised by her sweet voice when she told me.
-Akiko, that's my name.
-My name is Fidel. Why are you always so quiet?
For seconds she was captured by the outside and then, as if making a superhuman effort to return, she answered me.
-I am in mourning.
She left again to the place where the imagination is not capable of knowing and for the next fortnight she returned to his witnessed absence.
Then I was able to talk to her for long minutes and learn her story.
Her boyfriend committed suicide for unknown reasons, he was a poet and the death of his mother depressed
He lived in the same city where he worked and was buried there and she would visit his grave and stay in the house they shared during the day, that would do it until the pain and sadness vanished from her heart and resignation set in.
For moments I empathized with her situation and once I was even able to hold her hand for a few seconds.
She even agreed to join me for coffee one rainy morning.
Three months later she disappeared and I felt abandoned.
I never heard from her again nor did I ever run into her anywhere in the city where we lived.
I assumed she was over his mourning.
I keep sitting in the same spot waiting for her to show up but I'm already resigned that she never will.