All he saw was a small red blotch against a pale sea of white.
It was shaped like an abstract drawing of a flower—like someone tried to sketch one, changed his mind at the very last minute and tried to erase it but simply couldn’t.
Now it looked like something that should have been perfect but became a masterpiece—beautiful with its imperfections.
“Promise me you’ll wait for me?”
15 minutes until the next train arrives.