#londra

Alexandra Road Estate, by Neave Brown (1968).

London, United Kingdom.

© Roberto Conte (2018)

My love.

When we first met

Victoria’s colossal iron roof swallowed the last slivers of the afternoon light. Pendleton was already ill at ease finding himself in this station. In his hand, he held a nickel-plated device he called the 'Next-Generation Observation Indicator,' a triumph he had finally managed to bring back from a distant city to the dim glow of his workshop.

He was sitting next to the window in the train compartment. The view outside was pure chaos: noisy footsteps, the hiss of locomotives coupling the carriages, and, worst of all, a station enveloped in a dense, humid curtain of steam. This fog blurred everything, robbing it of certainty. Pendleton noted that the mist reduced the field of vision by exactly 15^\circ; a frustrating degree of uncertainty.H

e leaned over his notebook. Everything had been calculated: travel time, the ideal rate of rotation speed, the vibration tolerance of the device. Chaos was under control.The train’s first whistle blew. It was a deep, muffled sound, a whisper saying it was time to go. The doors shut with a sharp clang.

The locomotive slowly began to move.Before raising his head from his notebook, Pendleton heard an unexpected rhythm of footsteps echoing off the station's marble floor. They were speeding up. They were erratic. Something is missing from people’s calculations, Pendleton thought, trying to find the margin of error.He peered over his glasses into the thick curtain of steam. That’s when he saw it.

Darting through the mist, a silhouette in a heavy coat, trying to match the speed of the train, emerged. It was a Lady. Her face glistened with sweat, and her eyes were wide with desperation. Clutched tightly in her hand was a bag, likely containing the important parts of her entire life.Pendleton froze. His brain filtered dozens of arguments in a single second

Rational Solution: This is not my problem. Station rules are clear. Interference will disrupt the train's timetable. It is best to ignore this situation.

Social Solution: It will cause people to find me strange. My social clumsiness precedes my physical clumsiness. I will fail.

Physical Solution: The train is now moving at 5 \text{ km/h}. This is too fast for a safe rescue.

Balance and momentum...The cold logic that governed the machine was about to retreat when Pendleton saw that single, momentary spark of hope in Lady's eyes—the one that needed to be caught. It was like waiting for the perfect rotation of a cogwheel, but this time, the stake wasn't his own invention, but the grief of another life.

Oh, dear

Pendleton didn't even understand how the decision was made by himself. No, it wasn't a decision. It was a completely unknown impulse. It was as if, for the first time in his life, an uncalculated piece, one not in the chain of logic, had engaged.Pendleton sprang to his feet. He threw the Observation Indicator aside.

He rushed to the outer door—a door that, in the trains of that era, could still be opened manually.He flung the door open. The passengers on the train were astonished. Many began to watch to see what was happening. Wind and steam rushed into the compartment. The train had now reached a good speed.

"M-madam!" he shouted, his voice coming out in an unexpected, tearing determination. It was as if he were giving instructions for a new steam engine. "Now! Take my hand!"Y/N was running along the edge of the platform in a final, desperate effort. The distance between them—according to Pendleton's calculations, it was insurmountable. 20 \text{ centimetres}... 15 \text{ centimetres}... The shaking of the train compromised Pendleton's balance.

A finger's breadth remained between Y/N’s outstretched hand and Pendleton’s outstretched hand.Y/N, eyes squeezed shut, reached out with all her energy. And she somehow closed that finger's breadth of distance

She grasped Pendleton's hand with the strength of a desperate drowning reflex.Pendleton was surprised the moment he felt Y/N's hand. He hadn't expected this pure, raw power from a woman who looked so delicate.

It was like steel.Ignoring scientific methods, Pendleton pulled with all his might. His muscles strained, his face under his glasses flushed crimson. He was pulling a person, not a machine. And he succeeded.Y/N, heavy coat and bag and all, tumbled in like a sack. Pendleton, affected by the momentum, collided with her against the hard wooden surface of the closed door.Behind them, the door clicked shut.

The outside world, the mist, and the rapidly receding platform were left behind.The two figures lay, breathless, in a chaotic heap on the floor of the train compartment. Pendleton's hand smelled of machine oil, and Y/N's of sweat.After a few seconds of shocking silence—only the rhythmic clattering of the train wheels could be heard—Y/N slowly straightened up. She looked at Pendleton’s face.

Pendleton was still looking back, in a shock that transcended astonishment. His glasses were crooked, his tie loose. He was realizing the utter madness of what he had done.The desperate look in Y/N's eyes was gone. Now, it was replaced by pure, genuine amusement.

"I believe," Y/N said, her voice still breathless but filled with a smile. "That was the best first encounter I've ever had on my train journeys. Thank you, my hero. I am Y/N."

Pendleton slowly straightened up. He adjusted his collar with a stiff movement. He was smiling. It wasn't one of the gloomy, cynical smiles he usually wore. This one carried sincere surprise and a touch of pride."Pendleton," he replied, his voice husky. "Steam power, the weight of your bag, my leverage force... it went against all my calculations. This is a moment of pure disbelief. I- ıt’s a great pleasure to meet you, Y/N. A great p-pleasure."

Londra - Piccadilly Circus

120 anni fa ~

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