“So, this is what might or might not matter to you right now,” he said. “Time is just one of those social constructs we’re all stuck living with.”

Obviously.

“Let’s say you have this G-Shock, right? Those tough ones,” he declared dramatically. “It doesn’t really work if you want me to meet someone here at 9:30 a.m., while everything hinges on the time we agree on between you, me, and this chick we haven’t seen in like, ten or twenty years.”

Pretty much.

“Now we find ourselves hanging out at a railway station—”

“Mass transit.”

“—like two people who don’t belong here, and it’s not like we’re waiting in Tochigi for a train from Tokyo or something.”

Uh, no. Definitely not.

“Right?”

“Right,” I replied. “Time is a social construct, and no, we aren’t in Tochigi…”

Sigh.

“… and really, you could have used your smartphone or social media during all that time,” I added. “Dumbass.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’d say so.”

One notable feature of this station—similar to any train station with some sense of design—is the large digital clocks. As much as I would have preferred a classic Swiss railway clock, we make do with what we have. Overall, no one seems to mind; not everyone needs to wear Swatches or G-Shocks at all times.

Or at least not when they’re outside. Inside, our appreciation of time may not be as precise; our understanding of time’s nature hasn’t been rigorously challenged—just think about waking up on a Saturday morning, for instance.

Anyway, science has advanced, and technology has evolved, making our relationship with time more about numbers and hours: from wall clocks to quartz watches to features on smartphones, and screens displaying train schedules in polished stainless steel.

“I wonder what’s changed,” he mused. I shrugged.

“Changed how? The people or the times?”

“Well, if you put it that way, I’m about to meet someone I haven’t seen in ages. Things may have shifted—life happens, people drift apart.”

“At least this person doesn’t seem too intimidated to meet you.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t know; that’s not always the case with people.”

From the very start, railway stations have been laden with metaphors of reunions and farewells. The clocks reveal our complicated relationship with time; arrivals bring fleeting joy, while departures evoke transient sorrow. Along the way, we appreciate little joys like fast food or ekiben-style lunch boxes, and over time, hours and minutes blend into mere shadows.

Time is one of the most precious gifts you can offer someone. You’re giving them a piece of your life that you can never reclaim.

I decided to take a stroll and grab some coffee from the vending machine.

It was around the time the train was due to arrive, ten minutes before 10 a.m. In our society, the punctuality of trains has been meticulously studied. Our relationship with time can often be uneasy, but for practical purposes, timely arrivals have rarely been a source of major frustration for many.

A familiar sound echoed, followed by an announcement. The train came to a stop, and the doors opened.

A woman stepped out. She looked at us and smiled, with a hint of reserve that felt familiar. I smiled back.

“Hello, it’s been a while,” I said. She nodded with a smile. As I grinned, I added, “Now, you probably remember our friend here…”

Meanwhile, the train bound for the next station prepared to depart, its doors closing as the announcement marked our transition from that moment.