Stories in Passing

Stories in Passing
By Ollie

Every morning, at almost the same time, I board the tram to work. For 25 minutes I’m confined inside this metal snake with its familiar clatter and hum. Sometimes I read, other times I play a game on my phone, always with music in my ears. Anything to make the journey pass quicker. But now and then I drift away from my own distractions and scan the carriage, noticing the bodies around me — their shoes, their clothes, their expressions. I wonder where they’re headed, what’s on their minds, who they really are. Is it just our 9-to-5 lives that bind us to this same route, or something bigger pulling the strings?

People watching has always been one of my favourite pastimes. I can sit for hours in a café, a station, or on this very tram, just observing. The little habits most people never notice: an old woman smiling faintly at a baby’s laugh, a nervous boyfriend edging his arm around his girlfriend, tourists murmuring foreign words like music I’ve never heard before. Each moment is a tiny window into another life, a flicker of someone else’s story.

Then there are those unspoken games strangers play. The quiet thrill of catching the eye of someone attractive, both of you pretending not to notice, yet sneaking one last glance. Like tennis, sending the ball back and forth without ever letting it linger too long. Or the opposite: spotting someone you know but desperately hoping they don’t see you, suddenly busying yourself with pointless movements, which only makes you look more suspicious.

There’s even one guy I often notice on my route. We’ve never spoken, not even exchanged more than a glance, yet in my head I’ve built him a whole backstory. Some mornings it feels as if we’re destined to keep crossing paths — though the fairytale ending I imagine is probably just that, a story I’ve made up to pass the time. Still, I can’t help but feel a little spark when our eyes meet.

The tram itself becomes part of the experience: the rumble of wheels beneath my feet, the fog of my breath against the cold window, a stranger’s knee brushing mine. The sway is almost hypnotic. If you’re not careful, you could fall asleep and wake up somewhere entirely new.

Personally, I like the anonymity of public transport. I’m just one face in the crowd, another fish in the sea. With my headphones on, my thoughts drift and I can relax, comforted by the fact that someone else is steering for once. Who knows if it’ll be a bumpy ride or smooth sailing — every trip feels slightly different.

I suppose we’re all the main characters in our own lives, but just extras in everyone else’s. For a few fleeting minutes on the tram, we’re all in the same pool, sharing the same ride. Then the doors slide open, and people scatter into their own directions, lives separating again, maybe never to overlap. It’s a quiet reminder that time is short, and we only get so much of it — so take the scenic route, laugh a little louder, love a little more.