The time was 4:50 pm. That’s when I get my daily hit of dopamine, and also the longest ten minutes of my existence. Until 5. It was a random December day. People bundled up in layers, walking without giving a damn. Everyone looked happy except me. Where does their happiness come from? I wondered. That lady might have a date. That old man might be waiting for his son from another city. I talk a lot to myself. That’s one of my strongest vices. You need someone to talk to. Don’t you?

“The next stop is 14th St,” the automated voice announced. Finally. I worked near Rockefeller Center, then walked ten minutes to the subway. From there, the PATH would take me to Jersey City, where half of Manhattan’s day-job commuters lived. Nothing interesting there. I climbed those 24 steps at 14th St, got onto the train, my moving cradle. I slipped into sleep as we crossed the river. Usually packed, the train felt like my fridge back home, stuffed until it couldn’t take more. I made sure to sit near people whose faces suggested they wouldn’t attack me. I’d been honing this skill for four years.

That day felt different. Maybe it was the previous sleepless night, maybe the heavy Biryani my boss and I devoured from the Indian place. My commute sleeps are usually spurts, light and shallow. But this one was heavier, closer to actual sleep.

I sensed I was nearing my stop. A periodic disturbance pulled me from that fragile calm. Ignoring it once, I tried again. Sleep is one of the few things I truly care about. This stranger was interfering. I opened my eyes.

For a moment, my heart leapt. The scene was not what I expected. A small boy was sitting on my left, laughing and nudging me. His mother stood a few feet away, watching. I didn’t know why he targeted me, maybe for not giving up my seat, maybe just for fun. He stared at me. I stared back. I offered his mother my seat; she refused. And then I moved to another spot, letting the encounter dissolve into the rhythm of the train.

Even as I sat, the unease lingered. The train rattled on, lights flickering, the river slipping above us. Sleep returned slowly, but my mind replayed those milliseconds. The city moved around me, indifferent, unaware. And I felt, as always, both a part of it and apart from it.