The air in the train carriage was thick with exhaustion as I slumped into my seat, my bones aching from sleepless nights. Id just finished my final university exams in Edinburgh and had splurged on a lower berth ticket, desperate for proper rest on the journey back to London. My eyelids were heavy, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks lulling me toward sleepuntil she appeared.
A woman in her forties, her face lined with weariness, shuffled in with a boy no older than seven. Her ticket was for the upper bunk, but she fixed me with a pleading gaze. My backs gone, she sighed, rubbing her spine dramatically. And Alfie herewell, you know how boys are. Its impossible up there.
Sympathy tugged at me. A mother with a bad back and a restless childhow could I refuse? I hauled myself up to the top bunk, praying for rest. But Alfie had other plans.
The moment I settled, the bunk beneath me erupted into chaos. Alfie thrashed like a fish out of water, drumming his trainers against the metal frame while humming some mindless tune from a mobile game. The vibrations rattled through my skull. I gritted my teeth, then finally leaned over. Could you keep him a bit quieter?
The woman scoffed. Oh, dont be dramatic. Hes just a boy!
But Alfie, sensing his freedom, escalated. He darted up and down the aisle, blasting cartoons from his phone, shrieking with laughter. Sleep was a lost cause.
Enough.
I climbed down and marched to the conductor. Calmly, I explained: my ticket was for the lower bunk, Id exchanged out of kindness, and now I was being punished for it. The conductor, a no-nonsense man with a stiff upper lip, followed me back.
Madam, he said crisply, your ticket is for the upper berth. Please return to your assigned space.
She huffed, protested, but the conductor stood firm. With a theatrical sigh, she scooped up Alfie and clambered up, muttering about young peoples lack of respect.
I stretched out on my rightful bunk, the weight of guilt lifting. For the first time in days, I slept deeply, lulled by the steady hum of the train.
Never again, I vowed, would I sacrifice my peace for those who mistake kindness for weakness.
