Genevieve ShanahanColáiste na Toirbhirte, Bandon, Co Cork

THE JULY HEAT threatened Louise's pristine make-up. She was grateful of the rush of cool air, stale as it was, that rose to greet her from King's Cross tube station.

She moved swiftly between the morning crowds towards the ticket barrier. This was the place to be. "London's the future," they told her. Forget America. This city is the real land of opportunity and freedom. Controlled freedom. The freedom that has rules and procedures. Modern freedom for a modern city.

She made her way towards the Piccadilly south platform, and as she walked she called her husband to ask him to check the reservations for that night again. They had booked a table for their second anniversary ages ago, but for some reason she couldn't picture them there. Any time she tried to think about it she saw another couple sitting there, as if in a movie.

She shrugged and put it down to stress. She found it hard to picture herself doing anything other than working these days.

She found it relaxing to surreptitiously watch other people on the train, listening to their conversations and wondering what their lives were like, what dilemmas they were facing. They were living lives completely independent of her. Lives that would be no different if she were not there. What a liberating feeling! What difference would it make if she were to forget the world, and concentrate on the little life she had built for herself? There was no place left to sit, so Louise held onto one of the railings, beside a young man she had shared a carriage with a few times before. He looked like he might be Afghani, but she had never spoken to him. If she did he would stop being a stranger, and that would ruin the game, wouldn't it? She knew from overheard phone conversation, however, that he was a student at West Thames College, and she had seen him returning with his pretty Indian girlfriend some nights. He was a gentleman, the kind of boy who'd give you his seat and smile if he caught you looking at him. She was thinking about all these things, and enjoying the knowledge of their unspoken relationship, when the bomb went off.

Louise felt a huge surge of heat from the front of the carriage, the kind of heat that feels like it's freezing your flesh, rather than burning it.

Then there was nothing. No sound. No light. Even her thoughts had left her.

Slowly she became aware of the heat licking at her skin, as the pure, bright ringing in her ears gave way to a cacophony of sound — a crackling noise, the creaking of strained metal and screams.

There was a huge weight on her leg, and as she tried to move it she heard a gut-wrenching scream amongst the chaos in her ears, and realised it was her own.

A stirring at her side woke her from her trance, and as she turned her head, a face appeared. It was the young man. The boy who might be Afghani but she didn't know because she never asked because she wanted him to be a stranger. Her stranger.

And he was dying. She could hear it in the abrupt rasps of breath, and see it in his desperate, terrified eyes. He was going to die and there was nothing she could do. All around them people screamed, but they simply stared at each other, speaking in a way more human than any society could ever conceive. They were going to die together.

After what seemed like an eternity, gruff voices sounded outside the train and Louise felt the light of a torch pass over her.

"What's your name?" asked one, as the other attempted to pull the metal slate from her leg, sending a new wave of blood gushing out over her thigh. She could barely see with the pain.

"Help him," she tried to shout, though it came out as a mumble.

"What's that?"

"Help him" she replied louder and more panicked this time, not taking her eyes off the Afghani boy. "He's dying".

"We have a lot of people to help here, Miss. We'll get to everyone. Just please tell us what your name is".

It was no use. She felt warm tears on her face as her stranger's breath caught in his throat for the last time. His eyes widened in a final plea, then softened as his body became limp.

Louise's vision blurred, and darkness took hold again.

One year later, on July 7th 2006, Louise attended a memorial service in King's Cross station. There was something strangely soothing about the two minute silence, and the steady, communal breath of the gathering. In the silence Louise noticed an Indian girl and an Afghan woman, together in a corner. Once the silence was ended, she rolled up to them slowly and introduced herself.