Strange dreams are made of this

I don't know why it took so long. Now that I'm here, now that I'm standing in the comforting shade of the chestnut trees, I feel guilty. I should have intervened sooner. Was I too scared, too cowardly, too intimidated? Did I underestimate the problem?

She's standing on the platform. She's dressed in cobalt blue jeans, a white T-shirt with gold letters, a salmon-coloured blazer. A cognac-coloured backpack rests against her legs. Clutched in her right hand is a mobile phone. But she doesn't pay any attention to it. Men and boys walk past her, gaze at her as they pass. She doesn't react. She just stares straight ahead at the shiny rails.

Should I go to her now? Now that the train hasn't arrived yet? Should I explain it to her? Quietly, calmly, composedly. Like a teacher who wants to explain something about mathematics or biology to a student. Should I tell her that she's following a dream? A fantasy? Should I let her know she’s is chasing rainbows?

But at the same time, I feel my heart shrinking. Like a plastic teacup that has been too close to the fire. What will I take away from her when I tell her the truth? What will she have left of her life when she hears from me in how reality works. Can she handle it? Isn't it that I'm kicking the foundation out of her cold, meagre existence?

For a moment I'm afraid she is spotting me. She turns her head towards the row of trees behind which I'm hiding. But she gives no sign that she's recognized me. Meanwhile the seconds tick by. I have two minutes left. What am I going to do? Where am I with my big mouth? Why don't I dare take the final decisive step?

How long have I known her? Valentine? For as long as I go for a drink at Seven Hills. Every Friday. After I have finished my job. A pub run by people with mental problems. For whatever reason they can't make it in society. The tavern gives them the opportunity to become a chef. Or a waitress. Or a bartender. Valentine is a cleaner. She's been doing this for at least ten years.

You can't tell anything from the outside. The first few years I didn't notice anything. Especially since there are so many vulnerable persons walking around as employees in the Seven Hills.  People with anxiety problems or obsessive-compulsive disorders.

Eventually it became noticeable. Every Friday afternoon at exactly five o'clock, Valentine goes to get changed. She walks into the changing room as an insecure, scared, somewhat sloppy cleaning lady. She comes out of the cubicle as a beautiful, self-assured young lady. Sometimes she wears the same clothes as the week before. Usually, she has bought something new. Like this week. The salmon-coloured blazer. The T-shirt with gold letters

This is what they told me. She once had a vision. A chimera? The man of her dreams will come to see her. By train. And at a very specific time. Six o'clock in the afternoon. She only knows that he will come. And what he looks like. But not when, on which day.

Sometimes jokes are made when she returns back to the cafe. Around a quarter past six. Then she makes the opposite journey. She comes in as a princess. She walks into the bar as a cleaner.

For a long time, I accepted her behaviour. Like you allow talk shows on TV, stupid dances on TikTok. But it started to gnaw at me. Why did no one come to her aid? Where were her family members, her friends, her colleagues, acquaintances? Did nobody care about her?

Until this moment. Finally, I have gathered all my courage, all my strength. On this day I will talk to her. I will explain how things are. That there is a difference between delusion. And reality.

I hesitate. Am I really that convinced of myself? I hear the train pulling onto the platform. Then the blue monster stands between Valentine and me. Is this it? Am I just like the others? Making jokes about her behaviour? But not wanting to do anything concrete?

When after a few minutes the train makes preparations to leave, I admonish myself. No, it won't happen to me. I will speak to her. And while I walk to confront her and think about what opening line I am going to use, I hear her voice. I look up. Boundlessly in love, she stands hand in hand with an unknown man on the platform.