**Diary Entry**
The train slowed to a crawl. People shuffled toward the exits, their bags lumped over their shoulders. Outside, figures blurred past under the harsh glow of the platform lights. The train jerked to a stop, doors clattering open. Passengers poured onto the scuffed concrete, trampled by thousands of shoes, at this quiet station just outside London.
I lingered, last to step off. No one waited for me. No hurry to return to my lonely rented flat—just a place to sleep.
Six months ago, I signed the divorce papers, left my ex-wife and newborn daughter the house, and moved somewhere cheaper. Then came Sarah. Dated briefly, parted ways. Three months later, she turned up with a bump, announced she was pregnant. I offered to marry her. Four months later, she had a healthy girl.
Then came the confession—tearful, guilty. There’d been another man before me. He’d bolted the second he heard about the baby. She’d had nowhere to go, no desire to crawl back to her hometown. Could I really throw her out? So I left instead.
Now I worked near non-stop, saving for my own place. A mate had started a crew, doing up flats and country houses. Needed the cash.
I ambled down the dimly lit stairs, nearly missing the sandy-coloured dog at the bottom. He peered at me, then back up at the platform.
“No one left up there. Owner didn’t show, eh? Might be on the last train,” I muttered and walked off.
After a few steps, I glanced back. The dog had trotted up, scanning the platform. The train clattered away. A whine escaped him as he watched it go, then he bounded down and stopped in front of me, staring like he had questions.
“What’s the plan, mate? Waiting or coming with me? Last offer.” I turned without waiting.
He hesitated, then padded after me—first a few paces behind, then beside me.
“Lonely, huh? Same. Who even owns you? Never seen you around.”
He kept pace, ears twitching as I rambled. We reached my brick terrace house. He halted at the door.
“Coming in? Make up your mind—I’m starving.” I held the door a moment longer.
He slunk past me inside. “Not exactly low-maintenance, are you?”
The hallway bulb flickered weakly. “Third floor. No lift, sorry.” I joked as he hopped up ahead, pausing on landings.
At my door, I fumbled for the key. “Home. In you go.”
He hesitated, then entered with quiet dignity, sitting by the coat rack.
“Polite. Respect. But since you’re here, have a look around.” I tossed my jacket, switched off the hall light.
He lay down, ears pricking at the clatter of reheated leftovers. The scent must’ve hooked him—he slunk into the kitchen.
“Hungry, then.” I dumped pasta into a bowl, set it by the sink. He scarfed it clean, then watched me.
“That’s it. Didn’t exactly plan for a dog.” His stare flicked to the tap. “Thirsty too? Never had one before.” I rinsed the bowl, filled it with water. He lapped messily.
Later, while I flicked through telly, he dozed at my feet, twitching at every noise.
“Relax,” I said, switching it off.
When I yawned, he sprang up. “Right. Sofa bed’s coming out.” He backed off, nails clicking.
“Clever. What’s your name, eh?”
He trotted to the hall as I unfolded the bed. “Sleep in here if you want.” No return. “Suit yourself.”
In the dark, I heard shuffling, soft whines. By dawn, the noises stopped. Sunlight stabbed my eyes. The hall rustling resumed.
“Oh. Forgot you were here.” I padded out in boxers. He sat by the door. “Need out?” I opened it—he bolted downstairs before I could follow. The front door banged shut.
After a shower, I slapped together sandwiches, filled the kettle, and shuffled downstairs. He was waiting.
“Come on.” He dashed in, waited by my door.
This time, he beelined for the kitchen, demolishing the food. We left together, walked to the station.
“Off you go. Work. Will you be here later? No hard feelings if not.” I ruffled his ears.
That evening, I stepped off last again. Was he waiting or had his owner finally shown? There he was—tail wagging as he spotted me.
“Still no owner? Or just missed me?” I scratched his head. “Walk, then?”
Next morning at the platform, I crouched before him. “Not coming back tonight. Might be a day or two. See you around.”
Two exhausting days later, the platform was empty. No dog. “Found his owner, then,” I muttered.
At home, the empty bowl twisted something in my chest. Missed the daft creature. That night, silence felt heavier.
At dawn, my body ached. No appetite—just a gulp of water before heading out.
Then I spotted him. Beside a woman, waiting for the train.
“Yours?” I asked.
She blinked. “What?”
“He stayed with me while you were gone. Good dog.”
She smiled. “Oh, he’s not mine. Just found me at the station. I was away—mum was in hospital.”
“Really? What’s his name?”
“Hamlet.”
The train rumbled in. “Bye, Hamlet.”
We boarded together. “I’m James. You?”
“Emily.”
“Starting with the same letter—fate, eh?” I joked. She didn’t laugh. “Where d’you work?”
“Nurse.”
We talked the whole ride. Liked her more by the minute. Easy to talk to. No wonder Hamlet picked her.
She explained: his real owner, an old uni lecturer, had died recently. Never came home.
“So he waited. Then latched onto me. Probably the medicine smell—his owner had heart trouble.”
“Why’d he pick me? I reek of paint, not pills.”
“Maybe he knew you were lonely too.”
We agreed to meet that evening. The day dragged. My heart hammered sprinting to the station.
Emily was there. We barely stopped talking.
Hamlet bounded to meet us.
“Who were you waiting for?” she asked, ruffling his fur. He licked her hand, then nudged my leg.
“You met her first. Stick with her,” I told him. “I’ll miss you.”
“Come on, Hamlet,” she called.
He didn’t move, eyes darting between us.
“Choose,” I said, half-hoping he’d pick me.
He whined, paws shifting.
“Or maybe he wants us to go together. Your place or mine?” I grinned.
Emily huffed. “No. Hamlet, go with him.”
“Kidding. Let me walk you home. Think that’s what he wants.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine.”
He tore ahead, leading us down the quiet street, pausing to check we followed.
“I think he chose both of us,” I said carefully.
Emily just smiled.
Guess fate’s a dog sometimes. Doesn’t like goodbyes.
