The last train of the night screeched to a stop at an almost-empty station. Rain pattered against the windows, and the few passengers inside were scattered—some dozing, some staring blankly at their phones.

Lena stepped in, shaking off her umbrella. She chose a seat near the back, exhausted from another late shift at the diner. She barely noticed the man sitting across from her until he spoke.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Lena looked up, frowning. The man was about her age, dark hair damp from the rain, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper—sadness, maybe.

“Should I?” she asked, tilting her head.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Second grade. You gave me half your peanut butter sandwich because I forgot my lunch. I said I’d pay you back one day.”

Lena blinked. Vague memories surfaced—a shy boy, hungry and quiet. “That was you?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a neatly wrapped peanut butter sandwich, setting it on the seat between them.

Lena laughed softly, picking it up. “Took you long enough.”

“Better late than never,” he said. Then, as the train rattled into a tunnel, he added, “It’s funny how life circles back, isn’t it?”

She met his gaze, something warm blooming in her chest. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or maybe it was the fact that in a city full of strangers, sometimes the past had a way of finding you again—right when you needed it most.