A woman fell asleep on my shoulder on the train to work this morning. She was a stranger, roughly my age, and she was simply tired. I understood that. Still, hours later, I can feel the weight of her head.
I’m 24. I’ve never dated anyone, never held hands, never been in a relationship. I’ve had female friends over the years, but I’ve never found the courage or the opportunity to take anything further. Romance has come to feel like something that happens to other people.
Then her head dropped onto my shoulder, and I froze. I didn’t move a muscle. Mostly, I didn’t want to disturb her. She was asleep, and moving would probably wake her.
It was such a small, accidental thing. She hadn’t chosen me for anything beyond, unconsciously, being the person sitting next to her. There was no reason to read more into it. But I was suddenly sitting with a kind of closeness that has been missing from my life, and I didn’t know what to do except stay still.
The train jolted hard at a stop and woke her up. That was the end of it. A tired passenger had briefly nodded off against a stranger on her morning commute.
For me, it has lasted much longer than the ride. I keep thinking about that little bit of weight on my shoulder. I can remember it with an accuracy that feels almost unfair.
I wish it had been an ordinary moment for me, too. Instead, it brought the absence of everything else into focus: the dates I haven’t had, the hand I haven’t held, the feeling that this whole part of life keeps happening somewhere beyond my reach.
I know an accidental nap says nothing about what my future will be. It still felt like a cruel joke, being given a few minutes of contact that only made me more aware of how alone I feel. Hours have passed, and my shoulder still seems to remember.
