He’s always in that seat. Same scarf. Same book.
Says it calms him before work.

But I’ve watched him.
Closely.
He never flips a single page.
Not once.

The spine isn’t even cracked.

Last week, I finally asked him about it.
He smiled and said,
“It’s not that kind of book.”

This morning, curiosity got the best of me.
While he was up getting coffee, I opened the cover.

No title. No author. Just page after page of names.
Dates.
And subway stops.

But some of the names were familiar.

Like the guy who vanished last year on the 6 train.
And the girl from my building who “moved away” in March.

Then I turned to the last page—
And saw my name.
Today’s date.
And the words: “Third car from the front.”

That’s exactly where I sit every morning.

I was frozen for a second, trying to make sense of it.
I glanced at the book again. No title. No explanation.
Just this cryptic entry that seemed to have been written for today.

And then, as if on cue, the train doors opened, and my cousin returned.
He looked at me, eyebrows raised, like he knew exactly what I’d been up to.
“You looked, didn’t you?”

I didn’t know how to answer. My mind was racing, heart pounding.
“Why?” I finally managed.

He sat down slowly, his fingers brushing the top of the book.
“It’s for you, isn’t it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He nodded but didn’t say anything more.
For a moment, the train ride was eerily quiet, only the sounds of the wheels on the tracks.
Then, he turned to me. His expression wasn’t playful anymore.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, do you?” he said, voice low.

I shook my head, feeling like I was in way over my head.
“Alright,” he continued, “If you’re going to know, you need to understand the rules.”

I sat back, waiting for him to elaborate. The train was now moving, the station signs flicking past my window.

“There’s a reason I don’t turn the pages,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.
I felt a chill run down my spine.

“This book,” he started, “it… it shows things. It shows people, dates, places. Things that happen, people who come and go. But it only shows the things that matter.”

I frowned, still trying to process the idea of it.
“How does it work?” I asked, almost not believing the words coming out of my mouth.

“You’ll start noticing it more, now that you’ve seen it,” he said. “It’s like… a record. It keeps track of things that have happened, are happening, or will happen. But only for people who are in it. And once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”

I felt my stomach tighten.
“You’re saying… it predicts the future?”

He gave me a sad smile.
“Not exactly. It’s more like it records fate, or destiny. Events that shape our lives. But not in the way you think.”

I was confused.
“But why don’t you turn the pages?”

His eyes locked onto mine. “Because, once you start turning them, you can’t unsee what’s coming next.”

That was it. That was all he said.
It hung in the air like a heavy weight.

The train started slowing down, pulling into the next station.
“I don’t get it,” I said, my voice shaking. “Why does it have my name in it? Why today?”

He didn’t answer right away. The train came to a stop, and the doors opened with a familiar hiss.
He glanced at me, his gaze serious.
“I’m not supposed to tell you much more,” he said softly. “But… the book knows things about us. Things we don’t always realize we’re part of.”

I sat there, trying to make sense of it. His words didn’t add up.
But just as the train doors were about to close again, he added,
“You’ll understand soon enough. Just be careful. And don’t try to mess with what’s in the book. The consequences are… unpredictable.”

With that, he stood up and left.
I sat there, gripping the book tightly, feeling like everything was about to spiral out of control.

The words “Third car from the front” echoed in my mind.
That was today. That was now. I was still sitting here.
What was I supposed to do with that?

I glanced at the pages again, flipping through them slowly, heart racing.
As the train jerked forward, I saw something that caught my eye.

A name.
Mine.

But this time, it wasn’t just a name—it was a time, too.
“3:25 PM”

I looked up at the clock above the door. It was 3:15.

A sinking feeling hit me.
Was this some kind of warning?

I looked around the car. There were the usual commuters, heads down, lost in their own worlds.
No one seemed to notice anything strange. But I did.

The train started to slow down again.
It was approaching the stop I usually got off at, but something felt different.
A subtle shift in the air.

I glanced back at the book.

There it was again:
“Third car from the front.”

My stomach lurched as I realized—this wasn’t just about the book anymore. It was about me.

I had no choice. I had to go to that car.

The doors opened again, and without thinking, I stood up and stepped out. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. But my feet carried me toward the third car anyway.

As I walked through the train, my mind was racing, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I had to know.

I reached the third car. The door slid open with a quiet whoosh.

And there, sitting in the corner, was a woman.
She was staring out the window, her face a mix of confusion and fear.

Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw recognition.
But then she quickly looked away, pulling her coat tighter around her.

I sat across from her, the book still clutched tightly in my hands.
It felt like something was about to happen, something big, but I couldn’t figure out what.

The train started moving again.
The air felt thick, heavy with expectation.

And then it hit me. The book. The names. The places.
The strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

This wasn’t a coincidence. This woman—she was part of it. Part of the story the book had written.

But before I could say anything, she turned to me and whispered,
“You shouldn’t have come.”

I froze.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling.

She glanced nervously around.
“I… I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

Suddenly, everything clicked. The book. The names.
She was connected to it.

The train lurched, and the lights flickered.

Without warning, she stood up and bolted toward the door.
I barely had time to react.

And then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

I sat there in stunned silence.
What was that? What just happened?

For the first time, the pages of the book in my hands felt like they held more than just names. They held the key to something—something dangerous.

And I had just stepped into it.

I didn’t know what would happen next, but I knew one thing for sure.
The world was much stranger than I ever thought.

As the train pulled into my stop, I didn’t look back.

But I would never forget the face of the woman in the third car.

I understood now.

The book wasn’t just a record of what happened—it was a warning.

A warning I was now part of.

Sometimes, we can’t control the paths we walk.
But the choices we make can change everything.

The book was never meant to guide me—it was meant to show me how much I was already intertwined in the stories it told.

And now, it was up to me to decide how the rest of it would play out.

The choice was mine.

Share this story if you’ve ever found yourself caught in a moment you couldn’t explain.