Three days ago, I broke my arm. I was in pain, exhausted, and just trying to get to my parents’ place to rest and recover. That’s why I booked a lower bunk on the train—climbing to the upper one with a casted arm wasn’t an option.

I had just settled into my seat when a well-dressed woman around 50 stepped into the compartment. The moment she saw me, she scowled.

“Young man, I always take the lower bunk. Move.”

“Sorry,” I replied gently, holding up my cast. “I fractured my arm—I really can’t climb up.”

She didn’t care.

“So what? No respect from young people anymore! I’m an older woman, and you’re just lounging there! Shameful!”

Her voice rose, attracting attention in the corridor. I could feel people staring. Moments later, another passenger walked in—a well-groomed man in his 40s. It quickly became obvious: she didn’t care about the bunk—she just wanted to sit closer to him and impress.

When I didn’t budge, she huffed and squeezed next to the man, instantly switching from angry to flirtatious. I was stunned… and then I had an idea.

No shouting. No drama. Just calm consequences.

I quietly pulled out my phone and began recording.

“I’ve captured everything,” I said, looking her in the eye. “The yelling, the way you dismissed my medical condition. Oh, and that Ministry of Education badge on your bag? I’m sure they’d love to see how a civil servant treats someone with a disability.”

Her face drained of color. The man beside her gave a soft chuckle and subtly leaned away.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that…” she muttered, suddenly quiet and unsure.

I nodded. “Next time, maybe try respect first.”

She didn’t say another word for the rest of the trip. No flirting, no lectures—just silence.

And honestly? That was the best part of the ride.