«Closed Eyes See No Clouds»

The Midnight Express. A nine-hour journey. It should have flown by, but my travel insomnia had other plans. As soon as I step onto a train, my brain flickers into high alert: "No sleep. Period."

I settled into my berth, hoping against hope that I’d drift off. After thirty minutes, I realized I was fighting a losing battle. The only upside was that I was alone in the compartment. I’d been dreading a chatty passenger—the type who dumps their entire life story on you while you nod politely, replay their trauma in your head for hours, and lack the courage to tell them to be quiet. Nine hours of solitude. I’d plan my work, organize my files, maybe write those emails I’d been putting off.

Instead, I spent two hours playing mindless games on my laptop and pacing the corridor every fifteen minutes out of sheer restlessness. I was wasting the gift of time. Naturally, the universe decided to punish me.

A knock at the door. The conductor appeared, looking apologetic. "In here, please, sir. And let’s have no more fuss. I’ve told you, you had the wrong carriage."

A gruff, disgruntled voice echoed from the hallway. A moment later, he burst in. Barnaby was a mountain of a man—sweaty, panting, lugging three enormous suitcases. He seemed to triple the room's temperature instantly. He sat, stood, slammed the door, sat again, and rummaged through his bags with manic energy. Finally, he looked up at me with narrow eyes as if we were old war buddies.

"Got any water? No soda? Fine, plain will do."

He took the bottle from my hand and gulped it down with a desperate, almost primal greed. It was slightly repulsive, yet strangely honest.

"Hope that wasn't your last," he wheezed. "Don't worry, I’ve got some somewhere. Anyway, why are you awake? It’s 3 AM. Where are you getting off? If you’re trying to sleep, don’t mind me. I’m heading to the loo, then it’s lights out for me. Wake me if there's a stop, eh?"

"I have insomnia," I replied. "And I’m not sure about the stops."

"Insomnia, you say?" He paused, mid-waddle. "I can fix that. It’s my specialty. You’ll have dreams so vivid you’ll remember them for a month. But first—the toilet."

He rolled out of the compartment like a heavy-set duck. He was gone for fifteen minutes. I sat there, dreading the snoring or the brain-picking that would surely follow. Then, he returned.

"So, tell me about this insomnia. Details, please."

"Are you a doctor?" I asked. "There’s not much to tell. I just can't sleep in transit. Even if the journey lasts two days, I stay awake. Then I just carry on with my day at the destination."

"No fatigue?"

"Some, but I don't collapse."

Barnaby went silent. He started digging through his bottomless bags again. The rustling was maddening. Just as I was about to snap, he sat back down.

"Why no meds? Melatonin? A GP visit?"

"My kidneys can’t handle the meds. Look, it’s fine. It’s not contagious."

He stared at me. Then, he spoke with a sudden, quiet authority. "Do you want to sleep? I can clear it in one session. Right now. But decide fast—I’m tired, and my stop is in three hours."

"How?"

"A mental block. I’ll just remove it. Lie on your stomach. Relax your arms. Close your eyes. Think about clouds. Remember being a kid, looking up at the sky, seeing shapes in the white fluff? Now, imagine black, heavy rain clouds. Stay like that for a few minutes, then say: With my eyes closed, I cannot see the clouds."

I did it. Mostly because I wanted him to stop talking so we could both lie down. I followed his instructions, waited, and whispered the phrase.

"Good. Now, turn your head, lie comfortably, and set an alarm. You’ll be out in fifteen minutes."

He climbed into his bunk and was snoring within seconds. I lay there, feeling like an idiot, checking my phone one last time.

The next thing I knew, my alarm was screaming. I bolted upright, disoriented. Twenty minutes until my stop. The compartment was empty. No suitcases, no Barnaby, no sweat-dampened air. Just silence.

I’d slept. I’d actually slept.

I walked onto the platform in a daze. Who was he? What was that ritual? I didn’t even know his last name. It’s been six months now. Now, the moment I board a train or a plane, I’m out like a light. It’s a blessing, but it’s also… unsettling. I can't stay awake even if I want to.

I don't know if it was mysticism or some deep-tissue psychology. All I know is that with my eyes closed, I really can’t see the clouds.