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MidReal Story
A Station Reminds Me Of You
Scenario:Prompt
indie pop chillhop vibes, male singer
Sound
indie pop chillhop, dreamy lo-fi beats, gentle male vocals, bedroom production
Lyrics
Verse 1
Empty seats and window streaks
Time moves slow between these stops
Your picture in my phone again
Just fragments of what we had
Pre-chorus
Late night train keeps rolling on
Through stations painted blue and grey
My mind drifts back to you
Chorus
Every station looks like home with you
Missing all the small things that you do
Every station looks like home with you
Post-chorus
(Home with you, home with you)
Soft synth pad
Verse 2
Ticket stubs and coffee cups
Messages I never sent
The city blurs past midnight now
But all I see is memories
Pre-chorus
Late night train keeps rolling on
Through places we once knew
My heart pulls me back to you
Chorus
Every station looks like home with you
Missing all the small things that you do
Every station looks like home with you
Bridge
Remember how we'd make up stories
About strangers on the platform
Now I'm just another face
In someone else's late-night tale
Chorus
Every station looks like home with you
Missing all the small things that you do
Every station looks like home with you
Post-chorus
(Home with you, home with you)
Fade out
Create my version of this story
Alex
He is a young man commuting alone in his thoughts. He is nostalgic, introspective, and longing. After a breakup, he finds himself lost in memories of his ex on latenight trains. He holds onto the small moments they shared and wishes to relive their past. The changing cityscape and urban details trigger his memories, serving as a bittersweet reminder of their time together.
Every station looks like home with you,
missing all the small things that you do,
every station looks like home with you.
Late night train keeps rolling on,
through stations painted blue and grey,
my mind drifts back to you,
every station looks like home with you.
Empty seats and window streaks,
time moves slow between these stops,
your picture in my phone again,
just fragments of what we had,
late night train keeps rolling on,
through stations painted blue and grey,
my mind drifts back to you,
every station looks like home with you.
Ticket stubs and coffee cups,
messages I never sent,
the city blurs past midnight now,
but all I see is memories,
late night train keeps rolling on,
through places we once knew,
my heart pulls me back to you,
every station looks like home with you.
Remember how we’d make up stories,
about strangers on the platform,
now I’m just another face,
in someone else’s late-night tale,
every station looks like home with you.
Every station looks like home with you,
missing all the small things that you do,
every station looks like home with you.
Every station looks like home with you,
missing all the small things that you do,
every station looks like home with you.
(Home with you, home with you)
(Soft synth pad)
Every station looks like home with you.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the photo gallery.
The train lurches around a bend, and my shoulder bumps against the cold window.
Opening the folder labeled "Us," I scroll past dozens of thumbnails until I find that picture from last summer - you're laughing at the station café, hair slightly messy from the wind, coffee cup raised mid-sip.
The image is slightly blurred, caught in a spontaneous moment.
My finger traces the screen's edge, remembering how you always teased me for taking candid photos.
My thumb hovers over your contact, still saved with the heart emoji we chose together.
The train lurches around a bend, and my screen's reflection shows other passengers - a tired woman with grocery bags, two teenagers sharing earbuds.
I open our old chat thread, untouched for months.
Your last message ("Take care") stares back at me.
I scroll to find the photo from earlier tonight, the one of our favorite station café.
The fluorescent train lights flicker as I type and delete three different messages.
Through the window, I spot a flock of pigeons pecking at breadcrumbs on the empty platform.
Their grey feathers remind me of the scarf you wore on cold mornings.
The train screeches to a halt at your old stop, and I grip my phone tighter, still open to our chat.
As the doors slide open, a gust of wind carries a stray pigeon inside.
Other passengers shift away, but the bird waddles down the aisle, past empty seats.
I watch it disappear into the next carriage, leaving behind a silence that feels like goodbye.
I grip the handrail as the train lurches forward, then abruptly slows.
My phone slips from my hand, clattering face-down on the floor.
The fluorescent lights above flicker rapidly, casting strange shadows across empty seats.
A crackly voice comes through the speakers, announcing technical difficulties and delays.
Other passengers shift uncomfortably, checking watches and phones.
I retrieve my phone, heart sinking when I see the cracked screen - the last photo of us now distorted by jagged lines.
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of what is irreparable.
The train jerks to another stop, and I steady myself against the window.
My cracked phone feels heavy in my pocket.
As passengers shuffle in and out, I notice someone settling into the seat across from me.
Looking up from the floor's scuffed patterns, I meet warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that catches me off guard.
The stranger's kind expression reminds me of how you used to look at me across these same seats.
My chest tightens as I quickly glance away, but I can still feel their gaze.
The stranger's voice is a whispered concern, the same gentle tone you once used.
It startles me from my thoughts.
I shift in my seat, creating a small gap between our knees, but the train's movement pushes us together again.
The cracked phone digs into my leg through my pocket.
The fluorescent lights flicker, casting an eerie glow on the stranger's face - dark eyebrows drawn together, head tilted slightly in concern.
Their presence is both intrusive and comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night.
I take a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, I feel the possibility of moving forward.
The stranger's voice cuts through my thoughts again, and I instinctively grip the cracked phone tighter in my pocket.
Their brown eyes stay fixed on me as they pull out their own device - the screen pristine and bright in the dim train car.
The motion sensor lights above us flicker rapidly, casting alternating shadows across their face.
When they shift closer, I catch a faint scent of coffee - the same brand we used to buy from our old café.
My fingers trace the crack on my phone's screen through my jacket, feeling each jagged line.
The stranger reaches into their bag and pulls out a sleek box.
I recognize the model - it's the same as the one I've been staring at for months, but this one is pristine.
Someone asked me to give this to you, they say softly, sliding it across the empty seat between us.
My hands tremble as I stare at the unopened package.
The train rocks gently back and forth, and the questions swirl in my head - who could have known?
The stranger's warm eyes hold secrets as they wait for my response.
When I don't move, they push the box closer, their coffee scent mingling with the train's stale air.
I reach for the phone box with trembling fingers, my broken device pressing against my leg.
The stranger's hand remains steady, holding the other end of the package between us.
As I grasp the box, our fingers touch briefly - their warmth catches me off guard, sending an unexpected current through my skin.
The contact lasts only a second, but the sensation stays with me as I pull the box onto my lap.
The train slows to a stop, and I realize I'm ready to open the door to whatever comes next.
I carefully open the pristine phone box, my fingers trembling against the smooth cardboard.
The stranger leans forward, their coffee scent growing stronger as I lift the lid.
Inside, beneath the plastic tray holding the phone, I spot a folded piece of paper.
When I pull it out, a small ticket flutters onto my lap.
My eyes widen as I unfold the note and see my full name printed beside a series of numbers.
I hold the note with trembling fingers, glancing between the numbers and the stranger's expectant face.
The train's fluorescent lights flicker above us, casting a pale glow on everything.
I pull out my broken phone from my pocket, its cracked screen making it harder to read the numbers.
Each digit I press feels significant, like I'm unlocking something important.
The coffee-scented stranger leans forward slightly, their brown eyes fixed on my movements.
The dial tone echoes in my ear, louder than the rumble of the train.
"Who is it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It's someone who knows you better than you think," the stranger replies, their eyes never leaving mine.
The line clicks, and a familiar voice says, "I've been waiting for you to call."
I clutch the note while the stranger points to an address scrawled at the bottom.
It's a late-night café, somewhere I've never heard of before.
My broken phone shows 11:47 PM as I stand at my usual stop, watching the stranger exit ahead of me.
They pause at the station map, tracing a route with their finger before disappearing into the crowd.
The coffee scent lingers as I study the unfamiliar street name.
Following the path they traced, I walk past closed shops toward the address on the note.
My footsteps echo in the empty streets.
I pause under a flickering streetlight, double-checking the address.
The empty sidewalk stretches ahead between closed shops, their metal shutters creating dark recesses.
My footsteps slow as I notice movement in the shadows of a narrow alley.
A tall figure steps out, blocking my path.
The yellow streetlight catches their teeth as they smile, making my stomach drop.
I grip my broken phone tighter, backing away as they advance.
The coffee-scented stranger is nowhere in sight now.
I press my back against the cold brick wall as the tall figure takes another step forward.
My broken phone slips in my sweaty grip while I try to dial emergency services.
The streetlight casts harsh shadows across their face, making their smile look even more menacing.
Each scrape of their shoes on concrete echoes in the empty alley.
I glance desperately toward the main street, now hidden behind the figure's broad shoulders.
When they reach into their jacket pocket, I fumble with my phone, dropping it.
"Looking for this?" the figure asks, holding up my phone with a smirk.
"Why are you doing this?" I manage to stammer, my voice trembling as much as my hands.
"Because," they say, their voice low and conspiratorial, "you have something that belongs to us."
I press myself harder against the wall as they take another step closer, their hand still hidden in their jacket.
The phone lies on the ground between us, its screen dark and useless.
The yellow streetlight casts harsh shadows across the figure's face, making it hard to read their expression.
"Why are you following me?"
I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out barely above a whisper.
"Who are you?"
The figure laughs, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the alley.
"You don't know?" they ask, their voice dripping with amusement.
"We've been watching you."
My heart skips a beat at their words.
"What do you want?"
I manage to stammer out.
"The note," they say, holding out my broken phone with one hand while keeping the other in their jacket pocket.
"And the new phone. We know you have them." I try to form words, but my throat is too tight.
I glance down at my broken phone lying on the ground, then back at the figure looming over me.
"Why do you want them?" is all I can manage to ask.
"Because they belong to us," they repeat, taking another step closer.
"And we need them back."
As they speak, I hear footsteps approaching from the end of the alley.
The figure hears them too and half-turns toward the entrance of the alley.
For a moment, I see a glimmer of uncertainty in their eyes.
Then, they refocus on me, their smile returning as they take another step forward. "Give us what we want," they say, "and we'll let you go."
The footsteps grow louder now, echoing off the walls of the alley as whoever it is approaches quickly.
I hold my breath as I realize that this person might be my only chance to get away from this threatening figure.
I look past their shoulder toward the gap between them and the wall behind me.
Through that narrow opening, I see someone walking steadily toward us down the center of the alley.
The yellow streetlight catches their features for just a moment before they're back in shadow again.
But even in that brief glimpse, I know who it is without a doubt.
"Emily?" they call out as they get closer.
The threatening figure turns fully toward the newcomer, and I press myself harder against the wall.
"Emily?" the voice calls again, this time closer.
The figure in front of me seems to hesitate, then reaches into their jacket pocket.
I hold my breath, expecting them to pull out a weapon.
But instead, they take out a small metallic object that catches the dim light of the streetlamp.
"I'm Detective Emily Chen, Organized Crime Unit," they say firmly.
Then, they turn their badge so it catches the light and shows me the official police credentials.
My legs go weak as I realize that this intimidating stranger is an undercover officer.
The coffee-scented person from the train comes into view behind them, also showing a badge.
"Sorry for the scare," Detective Chen says, her voice softening as she tucks the badge back into her jacket.
"We've been tracking a syndicate using stolen phones to move encrypted data."
The coffee-scented officer nods, adding, "And you unknowingly became part of their network when you picked up that new phone."
I lean against the alley wall, my hands still trembling as I pull both phones out of my pockets.
Detective Chen holds out an evidence bag while explaining how the syndicate targets late-night commuters with new phones.
The coffee-scented officer documents the handover with a small camera.
My broken phone goes in first, its cracked screen catching the streetlight.
I hesitate before surrendering the new phone box, remembering how its mysterious appearance disrupted my nightly routine.
As I place it in the bag, Chen seals it with practiced movements, officially marking my unexpected involvement in their investigation complete.
"Thank you for cooperating," Detective Chen says, her tone reassuring.
"We'll make sure you're safe from here on out," the coffee-scented officer adds with a nod.
"But if you remember anything else about how you got that phone, please let us know," Chen continues, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of gratitude and urgency.
I walk between Detective Chen and her partner, the streets dimly lit.
Their badges are visible on their belts.
Chen scans each alley we pass, while her partner checks parked cars and doorways.
At my apartment building, Chen inspects the lobby before letting me enter.
Her partner stays by the entrance, speaking quietly into a radio.
Chen follows me up three flights of stairs, checking each landing.
Outside my door, she hands me her card with a direct number.
"Call if you need anything," she says.
I fumble with my keys, the hallway's fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across her face.
Her features are softer than during the investigation, but her eyes remain sharp.
My hands still tremble from the night's events, making the keys rattle against the lock.
Chen steps closer, steadying my hand with hers.
The touch is professional yet gentle.
When I turn to thank her, our eyes meet.
"There's something else you should know," Chen says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pause, keys in hand, feeling the weight of her words.
"The syndicate might have someone inside your building," she continues, her gaze unwavering.
