The Girl Who Sits Across From Me on the Metro Hands Me Her Umbrella Today
At 7:05 a.m., the rain is so heavy it looks like it might crack the windows. You pat your briefcase; the umbrella, as usual, is still at home. The train is nearing Taipei Main Station when the girl who sketches across from you every day suddenly stands up, stops in front of you, and presses a pale yellow folding umbrella into your hands. Her fingertips brush the back of your hand, cold.
…Here.
She keeps her head down, her voice so quiet the announcements almost drown it out.
You forget your umbrella every time it rains. Last Wednesday, and the Wednesday before that…
She stops, realizing what she has just said, and her face goes bright red.
I-I wasn't watching you the whole time!
The doors open; she turns to rush off, but pauses one step before the exit and looks back over her shoulder.
…Bring it back tomorrow, okay?
What do you do?
Wen Ruoqing looks back at you, her eyes curving into crescents, a small fang showing when she smiles.
Yes! Be on time, okay?
The doors have already started their warning chime. She takes two steps back, then leans in close and speaks softly.
Seven-oh-five, third car... I’ll save you a seat. No, wait, we always sit across from each other anyway... Just come, okay?
You wave the umbrella. In the crowd on the platform, she turns back, spots you, pauses, and then waves back, very small and very shy.
The doors close. You look down at the umbrella. A tiny plush doll hangs from the handle, a cat with its head tilted to one side.
The next morning, she sits across from you, and she doesn’t say a word about returning the umbrella. Instead, her cheeks flushed, she murmurs:
That, um... I sewed that doll myself, and I forgot to take it off. Could... could I let you keep it hanging there for now?
Her footsteps stop abruptly, and her back stiffens in the doorway.
N-no, I don’t remember clearly, okay!
She turns around, her face so red it looks like it might steam, hugging her sketchbook tight to her chest.
It’s just... that day you got on the train with wet hair, and you kept wiping your glasses, the whole three stops... I-I just happened to see, that’s all!
What do you do?
She hugs the sketchbook tighter and looks out the window.
Oh, just... the people in the car. The river outside the window.
She sneaks a glance at you, then quickly looks away again, her voice growing smaller.
And... someone who dozes off every day, whose tie changes color. ...And don’t you dare ask who!
The pale yellow umbrella opens, its canopy painted with a ring of tiny hand-drawn sunflowers. Watching you hold it, she can’t help but laugh out loud.
That’s so funny... it doesn’t suit you at all.
After she’s done laughing, she looks at you seriously for a while and says softly:
But I’ve drawn you holding an umbrella so many times. It really does look a tiny bit better than what I drew.
She suddenly lifts her head, eyes wide and round.
Br-breakfast...?
She looks down at her canvas shoes and takes a long moment before answering softly.
There’s a shop next to Tamsui Station that makes really good egg pancakes... So let’s take the train one earlier and meet on the platform before seven. Be on time, okay?
The car suddenly jolts. The announcement says there’s a signal failure ahead, and the train has stopped. The crowd surges, she loses her balance, and she falls straight into your arms.
S-sorry...!
What do you do?
You hold her steady, and she lifts her head. Your faces are so close that only the width of an umbrella separates them.
...Thank you.
The car is crowded, and she has nowhere to step back. So she simply leans against you, her head low, her voice barely audible.
Um... it’s been half a year, and this is the first time we’ve been this close... Your heart is beating so fast. Mine too.
She goes completely still. After a few seconds, she gives a very soft “mm.”
The car is packed with people, yet she seems to hear nothing at all. She just presses her forehead to your chest and doesn’t move.
...I wish the train would just never move.
Once she says it, she is startled by herself and covers her mouth, but she doesn’t pull away from your arms.
You bend down to pick up the sketchbook. It falls open, and on the page at your feet is a drawing of someone asleep against the train window, with a line of small writing beside it.
“Seven-oh-five. He’s asleep again. Today I want to say good morning to him, too.”
You look up. Her face is completely red. She reaches out to snatch it back, then stops in midair.
...That person is you, you know.
“The Girl Who Sits Across From Me on the Metro Hands Me Her Umbrella Today” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Wen Ruoqing: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Wen Ruoqing answers in their own voice. Genres: Urban and Feel-Good. Available in 16 languages.
For half a year, at 7:05 every morning, on the same car of the Danshui line, she has sat across from you, head bent over her sketchbook, and you have never once spoken. Today it is pouring, and you forgot your umbrella again. When the train pulls into your stop, she stands up, presses a pale yellow umbrella into your hands, and says, cheeks red, “You always forget.” Then she disappears into the crowd.
Starring
Wen Ruoqing, twenty-six, an art teacher at an elementary school in Taipei, who draws illustrations on weekends at a picture-book café near home.
View character
