The train jolted like an angry animal, and my shoulder slammed into the pole hard enough to make my teeth click. Someone’s backpack buckle caught my sleeve; somewhere near my ribs, a phone speaker hissed tinny laughter. The carriage was overfull, over-warm, over-everything—breath layered on breath until the air tasted used.

“Move in, lah,” a voice barked, but there was nowhere to move except into other people’s lives: damp collars, perfume too sweet, the sour trace of yesterday’s cigarettes trapped in hair. The doors chimed again. More bodies pressed. The rubber floor trembled under our combined impatience.

I tried to steady myself and found, to my horror, that my hand had landed on something soft and sticky.