The Girl on the Subway - By Omaima Abdulali

Written By: Omaima Abdulali

Category: Short suspense story.

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a captivating submission to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Omaima Abdulali presents "The Girl on the Subway." This short suspense story delves into the monotony of everyday life, only to unravel into a gripping mystery. Through the eyes of the protagonist, readers are invited to explore themes of loneliness, connection, and the unexpected twists that can disrupt even the most mundane routines. Abdulali's storytelling invites you to embark on a journey where the ordinary meets the extraordinary.

About the Work

"The Girl on the Subway" is a masterful blend of suspense and introspection, set against the backdrop of daily subway commutes. Omaima Abdulali crafts a tale that oscillates between the routine and the mysterious, as the protagonist becomes enveloped in the enigma surrounding Luna, a vibrant presence on the subway. Through vivid imagery and emotional depth, the story explores themes of uncertainty and the eerie realization that life can change in the blink of an eye.

The Girl on the Subway

Original Submission by Omaima Abdulali

The girl on the subway

Same routine, same exhausting pattern. I live a simple, invisible life: working nine to five jobs, eating out on Fridays and living alone in a small, silent studio apartment. Everyday I take the subway to and from work. I see the same faces everyday. A serious pale man wearing a yellow hat, wore with marks on the inside no one else seemed to notice, reading the daily news, his chin always held against his chest and his chapped lips parted. A tall dark skinned woman with glasses, eyes transfixed on her laptop as she types away. A young man with a chiseled jawline and green eyes permanently dimmed by a long day of work.

My life is mundane and perfectly monotonous.

But then there is Luna

She became the best part of my commute. We always ended up in the same compartment at the same time, and over months, our quick smiles turned into full conversations. She had ocean blue eyes paired nicely with caramel skin and she carries a tall, slim frame with effortless grace, hair darker than charcoal. She was beautiful, but it was her energy that drew me in. In a sea of ghosts, she was the only one who felt alive. Everyday, from the window seat, I would watch her brighten the space, whether it was by giving up her seat or making even the expressionless man with the mustard yellow hat laugh. We’d chat about our weeks, and she slowly became a friend in my otherwise lonely life.

It is another Wednesday evening. The heat inside the subway is suffocating, trapping heat as heavy and hot as the first dawn of summer and I sit at my regular seat, darting my eyes across the empty space around me. It had been exactly a week since Luna last boarded the subway and our usual spot felt too empty. True, we only knew each other from these rides, but you gather a lot about a person from evening conversations. The biggest one? She loves Machlaster, she had zero plans of moving.

At first, I rationalized it to her being ill, but as weeks passed it became harder and harder to convince myself of that. A tight knot formed in my stomach, uncoiling into a million questions.

Where did she go? What happened to her? Was she even alive?

I practically begged the sergeant, my voice shaking as I asked if any girl matching her description had been found or if anyone had filed a report. Nothing. Everything came up perfectly, terrifyingly ordinary. When I tried filing a missing persons report myself, not only did they refuse, but laughed. A sharp, ugly sound that mocked me until my face burned with the embarrassment of it.

“You don’t even know her last name,” he barked, leaning over the counter until I could smell the stale coffee on his breath. “Get some sleep. Whatever you think you're hunting, looks like it’s already caught up to you. Get out of here!"

He was right, a sick feeling in my chest told me so. But as I walked aimlessly in the cold night, I cannot shake the suffocating certainty that somewhere out there, in the dark, something terrible has happened to her.

I kept repeating the conversations we had shared like a mantra, my brain pausing at one where she’d spoken about her neighborhood. She had smiled and described her love for picking out the sunflowers that danced in the wind on the days that the sun smiled down on the city. She had mentioned a sunflower garden equidistant from her house and the last stop from the subway.

When the sun came up the next morning, I did something I had not done in years, I called in sick at work. The train dropped me off at the last stop and I began walking the neighborhood, which honestly felt reckless but panic had taken the front seat at this point. After asking a few local shopkeepers and workers if they recognized the description, one finally pointed me towards a narrow street on the left. Minutes later, I stood before the house, I don’t know how but my gut is screaming this is it. The exterior is painted crimson red with eccentric splashes of bright colors, matching Luna's personality perfectly.

I knock vigorously at the door. No answer.

However, when I carefully tried the handle, the latch clicked, and the door swung open, fully unlocked. Slowly entering, the summer's warmth completely vanishes as a shiver runs through me. Scattered shards of glass crunch beneath my shoes, foul smells from the kitchen attack my nose and furniture litters the hallway, making it clear this isn’t just a mess but rather a frantic, violent disaster.

As I step further into the damage, my heart hammers against my ribs until my eyes locked on something that made it completely stop beating. The hardwood floor was splattered with crimson blood droplets, leading all the way up to the stairway. I freeze, my breath catching as I follow it despite my better judgement, but before I reach the first step I see something oddly familiar sitting in plain sight, yet completely out of place on the kitchen table of Luna's house.

A yellow hat.

The exact same yellow hat worn by the pale man on the subway.

I don’t remember picking it up but somehow it was already on my head. A perfect fit.

My hands were shaking, but I hadn’t done anything.

Had I?

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is an esteemed platform celebrating the art of storytelling. It welcomes writers from across the globe to share their unique voices and creative expressions. This competition fosters a community of literary enthusiasts, offering a stage for both emerging and established writers to showcase their talents and contribute to a diverse tapestry of narratives.

We extend our gratitude to Omaima Abdulali for sharing "The Girl on the Subway" in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This thought-provoking narrative captivates with its suspenseful progression and profound exploration of everyday encounters. Omaima's contribution enriches the competition's tapestry, and we look forward to seeing more of her compelling stories in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.