Toppatsuteki na Sōgū – A Sudden Encounter on the Train

A Photographer’s Black & White Journey from Cologne to Düsseldorf

1. The Journey Begins

The train station in Cologne hums with the low murmur of travelers moving between platforms. The winter air is crisp, and the glass canopy above filters the fading afternoon light, casting angular shadows onto the pavement. My Mamiya 6 hangs from my neck, its familiar weight grounding me.

I board the train without expectation, settling into my seat by the window. The Ilford HP5 film inside my camera waits for something—an image yet unseen, a story yet untold.

2. The Moment of Arrival

She appears just as the doors hiss closed.

A rush of cold air swirls around her as she steps in, her dark sweater clinging to her frame, her hair wild from the wind outside. She moves with a certain weightlessness, as if the train is merely a pause in her journey rather than a destination.

I lift my camera instinctively, adjusting the focus as she takes the seat across from me. The Mamiya 75mm lens captures her mid-motion, her presence stark against the blurred figures behind her. The chiaroscuro of the train window frames her face, highlighting the contrast between movement and stillness.

Click.

She notices.

3. A Gaze Across the Seat

Her gaze meets mine, curiosity flickering in her eyes rather than irritation.

“You’re taking photos?” she asks, her voice soft but direct.

I nod. “A project. Portraits of strangers in transit.”

She exhales, looking past me, beyond the glass, at the passing landscape.

“Trains are strange places,” she muses. “We all share a moment, but we never stay.”

The light shifts as the sun dips lower, casting one side of her face in shadow. I click the shutter again, capturing that moment—her profile bathed in the golden remnants of daylight, her expression unreadable, somewhere between nostalgia and anticipation.

The grain of the film will make it timeless, I think. Like a memory suspended between two places.

4. The Click of the Shutter

I lift the Leica again.

Her reflection is caught in the train window, blurred by the motion of the passing countryside. My hands, wrapped in fingerless gloves, steady the camera as I press the shutter.

She watches me now, intrigued.

“You should take more,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “Come with me when we arrive.”

Surprise flickers through me, but I don’t hesitate. “Where?”

“My place,” she says simply, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

The train hums beneath us, the steady rhythm of the tracks filling the silence between us.

5. Between Two Cities

The train cuts through the landscape, a steel artery between Cologne and Düsseldorf.

She leans closer to the window, her hair catching the last light of the day, stray strands lifting in the cold air from a cracked window. The moment is intimate yet distant, as if she exists both here and somewhere else.

I capture her like this—half-real, half-ephemeral, the world outside dissolving into streaks of grey behind her.

Then, the station appears.

We step onto the platform together.

6. Inside Her World

Her apartment is small, minimalist, but warm. A single bed pushed against the wall, a pile of books spilling onto the floor. A single framed portrait hangs on the wall, its subject staring out with an expression I can’t place.

She tosses her bag aside and moves to the bed.

“Keep shooting,” she says.

She jumps.

The room blurs around her as her body lifts, her dress billowing slightly as she hovers for a fraction of a second.

Click.

She lands, only to leap again.

Click. Click.

Her hair is a wild halo, her limbs an extension of motion itself. The grain of the Ilford HP5 film will render this in stark blacks and luminous whites—a ghost of a moment frozen in time.

She laughs, breathless, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of tangled limbs and scattered light.

I lower the camera, the weight of the moment settling between us.

7. The Last Frame

Later, she sits by the window, her face softened by the city lights outside. Düsseldorf stretches beyond the glass—blurry, indifferent to the story unfolding inside this small room.

I take one last frame.

Click.

Her eyes meet mine through the lens.

“I think you found what you were looking for,” she says.

I don’t answer. The image will say it for me.

8. The Empty Seat

The train back to Cologne feels different.

I settle into my seat, staring at the empty space across from me. Her imprint remains—a presence felt in absence.

Through the window, the city fades into motion blur.

I wind the film forward.

The negatives will tell the story.