Rusty Tracks and a Metronome | Short Story

1:00 AM, my one-room apartment. At the edge of my desk, an old metronome was marking a steady tempo.
—Click, click, click.
It was the only rhythm that kept me sane in this city. In a daily life where I felt like I was drowning in a sea of people and time, only this regular sound anchored me to the point called "now."
However, the sound stopped abruptly. Had the spring snapped, or was the weight positioned incorrectly? And in the brief moment of silence that followed, a sound that shouldn't have been there slipped in.
—The sound of distant waves, a soft, rushing roar.
Before I knew it, I wasn't in my dusty city apartment, but standing under sunlight so bright it made me dizzy. It was a seaside town, the place where I had once left my "self" behind.
At my feet, a single rusty track, overgrown with summer grass, stretched on forever. It was that place, the one that should have been abandoned decades ago.
"So, it was still here..."
My mutterings were swept away by the hot, humid wind.
When I cast my gaze downward, a small shadow was swaying at the end of the tracks. A boy wearing a straw hat, using a bug-catching net like a walking stick, walking unsteadily along the rails.
—That is me.
Another version of my former self. The shadow would occasionally stop and look toward the sea. The sea back then was a deep blue that seemed to carve away at life itself, the polar opposite of the concrete landscape I view from my window today. The sensation of the sea breeze blowing through was so real that the moment I realized this was a dream was the moment that wind sharply gouged the deepest part of my heart.
Does the rusty track truly lead to "that summer day"?
I started walking as if to chase the shadow. The leather shoes I had worn out in the city tapped against the decaying railroad ties. But no matter how much I walked, the distance to the boy didn't shrink. He was walking through the "pure boredom" I had long since forgotten. Through that quiet time I am now so desperate to reclaim.
City life carves us up with minute-by-minute schedules. Trains arrive on time, and traffic lights change with regularity. But on these rusty tracks, time simply draws a slow circle, like the ebb and flow of the tide.
Suddenly, I felt as if the boy had looked back. I couldn't see his face due to the backlight. Only his swaying shadow seemed to be asking me a question.

"Hey, what kind of wind is blowing over there?"

I couldn't answer. My days are spent being pushed by the wind between buildings, bumping into people on train platforms, and disappearing into crowds without even a chance to apologize. I have nothing to be proud of in such days. But the sound of a railroad crossing alarm ringing behind the boy struck my chest hard. I know it's just an auditory hallucination. But—.
A gust of wind blew through my heart. It was the nostalgia of the sea breeze reaching me from the seaside town, a powerful temptation trying to take me back to "that summer day."
The rust from the tracks crawled up from the soles of my shoes, staining my memories a reddish-brown.
"Wait for me..."
The moment I reached out my hand, my vision turned pure white.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in my one-room city apartment. Outside the window, the exhaust noise of a late-night bus echoed in the distance.
On the desk, the stopped metronome sat quietly in the moonlight. I moved my fingertips, lowered the weight on the metronome just a little, and wound the spring again.
—Click, click, click...
The metronome began to mark the rhythm once more. But something was different from before.
Inside my heart, that sea breeze was still blowing. The rusty tracks had transcended physical distance and were truly connected to where I stood.
Even if I am swayed by a crowded train again tomorrow, the wind blowing deep within my chest will always be able to take me back to that blue seaside.
I took a deep breath. I felt as if the taste of salt still lingered deep in my lungs.
Even while being hurried by the second hand of the city, the "other me" inside is still walking slowly along those tracks.

(End)

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