The Stranger at Platform Six

I was running late.

The train doors were already closing when a stranger grabbed my arm.

"Don't get on."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Take the next train."

He looked terrified.

I pulled my arm away.

"Are you serious?"

He nodded.

"Please."

Something about his expression made me hesitate.

The doors closed.

The train left.

Twenty minutes later, we heard the announcement.

The train had stopped because of a mechanical problem.

Nobody was injured.

It was delayed for hours.

I turned toward the stranger.

"How did you know?"

He looked at the ground.

"I didn't."

"Then why did you stop me?"

He took a deep breath.

"Because yesterday, I was supposed to be on that train."

His voice broke.

"My daughter was with me."

She had been killed in an accident the previous day.

He had returned to the station because he couldn't bring himself to stay home.

"I saw you running," he said.

"For a second, I thought it was her."

He apologized.

Then he walked away.

I never saw him again.

I still don't know whether he saved me.

Maybe it was coincidence.

Maybe it was grief.

But whenever I'm rushing to catch a train now, I remember his words.

Sometimes being late isn't a problem.

Sometimes it's the reason you're safe.