The bag weighs like an unusual burden over my shoulder.

When I got home, I couldn't help my curiosity and checked the contents. I found no way of contacting her inside, no phone number or address to reach out to. All it contained was a scrapbook, a woolen scarf, and a small pouch with a few colored pens and pencils.

The scrapbook was interesting, to say the least. My guess is that she's an artist. It intrigued me to look further through the pages but I didn't.

However, I am here to do the right thing. I must submit it to the stationmaster's office in case the girl comes looking for it. She passed in a blur; the only thing I could remember of her was her green jacket and brown hair.

But even if I did remember her, encountering her at the station again is an impossibility by itself. Hundreds of people come and go and meeting the same people more than once is rare in a busy city like ours.

Dropping the bag off at the office, I will have to wait for my train. Somehow, it didn't take as long as I thought and some time is still left for the train to arrive.

10:30. The digits gleam on my watch and I look up at the screen announcing the arrivals of the upcoming trains.

Walking to the platform, the usual crowd engulfs me.

***