The Countdown Clock

He sighed, but not in an annoyed way. Not at all. "Four. And my name is Evan, just so you know."

She extended her hand, smile still in place. "Estelle." They shook hands, and she looked very relieved that his mental processing was intact.

He asked, "Did you actually think that you hurt me that badly?"

"I'm a walking catastrophe. I've had some pretty... interesting experiences to say the least." She looked amused, but her voice had a tinge of apprehension.

"Don't worry about it. Accidents happen, but they just happen to you more often." She laughed, and he found himself laughing, too.

He inquired, "But I do have to know: what is in that bag? I thought maybe bricks."

She smiled, smugly, "You're close. It's books!" She shook her bag, emphasizing that there was, indeed, a lot of something in there.

The train began slowing, coming to the next stop. A voice at the back of his head hoped that this was not where she got off. He, himself, left the next time...

Estelle did not give any indication that she was moving, and he breathed out a sigh that he had been holding in.

"Why do you keep so many books with you?"

"It's actually only two, but they're both a bit long. I also have my manuscript with me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your manuscript?"

The train began moving again.

"I feel like there's two kinds of crazy people: group one commits crimes and group two starts writing. I'm the latter." She stroked her bag like it was a baby kitten resting in her lap, like it was precious. "I finished writing this book a couple months ago, and now I'm on the hunt for a publisher. I always keep the manuscript with me now, just in case. You never know who you might run into!"

His face went back to that pleasantly confused look, dumbfounded that they were in the situation she just described, both literally and theoretically.

"It's ironic that we met then, huh? At the very next stop, I'm getting off this train to run to my job at a publishing house, because it just so happens that I'm an editor there."

Her eyes widened, her mouth morphing from a shocked "O" shape into a smile.

She exclaimed, "Then it was absolutely fate that I slammed my purse into your face! Ha-ha!" She began fumbling with the clasp on the bag, continuing, "Would you be willing to take this with you? I don't know if they'll accept it, but this is a perfect opportunity if I've ever seen one."

Estelle had so much hope filling her blue eyes, the precise color and intensity of cobalt glass. In no other world could he say no.

"Of course I'll take it." He began unclasping his own messenger bag, so he could keep the document safe, when two arms flung around either side of him, squeezing tightly. Her mouth was right next to his ear as she said "Thank you" a million times.

Before he could react any further, the train once again began its decline in speed, approaching Evan's destination. Estelle was no longer the entity wrapped around him; now it was only reluctance. In a brief train ride with a stranger, he had found so much happiness, unlike anything he had felt in years.

"This is my stop."

Losing all sense of clumsiness, Estelle neatly handed the clipped document to Evan, and he slid it into a pocket in his own bag. He redid the clasp, locking away the treasure inside.

If he was not mistaken, her eyes looked unenthused about his departure as well, which made his stomach climb into his throat. He stood, messenger bag strapped across his chest, and he began moving towards the door. Evan turned his head and locked eyes with Estelle. He smiled as strongly as he could, something he never did. "I'll do everything I can to get this published!"

She smiled in return, waving. "Thank you! All my info is on there!"

He was out of the train now. The doors were just about to close. He turned around once more, staring at the abstract art before him.

Seconds before the doors finally slid shut, she yelled, without a care for the other passengers, "'Bye, Evan!"

The doors shut, and the train pulled away.

Evan stood there standing for a few moments before he collected himself. He didn't know if it was drugs or fire, but there was certainly something in his veins. As he did earlier, he pulled up his left shirt sleeve, the two watches revealing themselves (yep, still late). The watch that tells time is optional, as most people merely check their phones for the time anyway. However, the Countdown Clock, the watch he wore higher on the arm, is obligatory, and every person must wear theirs at all times. The Countdown Clock: our decisions changing the amount of time before zero. Every time Evan believed that he had found it, the time would increase, because apparently, his decisions were always wrong.

He glanced at his Countdown Clock, the one he had disregarded earlier-- the one he always disregards. But at this moment, it caught his eye and held it. What Evan believed would never, ever, happen finally occurred: the clock is no longer counting down, but rather it began counting elapsed time. It finally began counting 4 minutes and 16 seconds ago. It finally began counting when Estelle first spoke to him. It finally began counting when he met the person that is the one, true love of his whole life.