You are a businessman on your way to work.

Dressed in gray shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes, you tackle your day with renewed resolve and head towards the train station before the crack of dawn with your briefcase in hand. At the train station, you fix your hair and straighten your red tie, the only piece of fabric that stands out on your clothes. Frankly, you like the little strip of cloth, though as mundane as it sounds.

You check your watch.

There is still quite a bit of time before the morning rush. You let out a sigh of relief. Being in a crowded train jampacked with hundreds of other people like sardines in a can is one of the most unpleasant difficulties of living in the city. Strangely, as you look around, you seem to be the only one waiting for your train. Usually, there are at least a few travelers at this time. Perhaps this time, you will make the early train to work.

A train’s horn announces its arrival into the station. The commuter train screeches to a halt in front of you and opens its doors. You step on, clutching on to the handle of your belonging. As soon as you take three steps inside, you stop. The inside of the train is much more different than you remember. Most of the interior is made of polished wood. Electric lighting is replaced by gas instead. The seats, themselves, have an eye-catching design that seem to lean towards aesthetics than functionality. All in all, the quaint look gives the room a homey atmosphere, even though the interior is a stark contrast from the modern metallic look of the outside.

However, a little voice in your head voices the unpleasant question you don't want to hear: “Am I on the wrong train?”

Before you can quickly make your way out, the door closes and the train lurches as it begins its departure. The station leaves you as it passes by in the round windows, picking up speed. You chastise yourself for taking so much time ogling when you should have left instead. Now you will have to get off at the next stop and get on the next train during rush hour.

You take one of the empty seats by the window, setting your briefcase next to you. As you sit down, you can’t help but notice how comically low these seats are, almost child-sized. It doesn’t help that the seats provide almost no support for your own back, forcing you to sit straight. What good are these seats if you can't even sit comfortably for long trips?

You stare anxiously at your watch until the room darkens as the train approaches a tunnel.

When light returns, your eyes are drawn to the window where untouched wilderness fills the scenery. The sudden transition from the city train station to a forest is nothing but alarming. A forest and no buildings or streets? That shouldn’t be possible. That tunnel had to be miles long to get anywhere this far away from the city. You look at the other side of the car’s windows, but it was basically the same, except for the mountains in the background.

You check your watch again to see if that tunnel really was as long as you had thought, though it showed only a few minutes had passed since you last checked.

You hold your head between your hands. What is going on? Where is this train headed? Though the most worrying concern is that you will most likely be late to work. You are going to have to call in sick. It can't be helped. One sick day out of 365 days shouldn't be too out of the ordinary.

You pull out your phone and flip it open, only to realize the lack of phone signal in the area. It's too bad you're stuck with a flip phone, not one of those smart phones with the widgets and apps. With a sigh, you shove the phone, though more of an antique by today's standards, back into your pocket.

As you contemplate on your next action, the door to the next carriage opens behind you. It shouldn't be a surprise there would be other people on board. Two sets of steps make their way toward you. Perhaps this is a perfect opportunity to find out where you're going. Surely, these people would know.

You turn around to face whoever had entered, but your eyes drift lower to the adorable little orange horse carrying a bindle on its back. It's staring at you.

You hesitantly raise a hand and move to pet its head. "Hey there, little guy. What's your name?"

"Applejack," says a little girl's voice.

You look around the carriage, but there isn't anyone else. But that girl sounded really close. "Who said that?" you ask.

"Ah did."

The voice came from the direction of the horse, oddly. But that can't be right, unless there was a speaker somewhere. That must be it. This was an elaborate prank. Why else would a horse be on a train? You decide to humor the little jokester. "You did?" you ask the horse, petting it some more.

This time you see the horse's mouth move. "Yup," she says. "What are ya?"

You freeze. Well, this is... strange. Not at all what you were expecting. The horse, Applejack, smiles at you, unphased by all this, even with your hand on her head.

You pull your hand away and ask, "What are you?"

"Ah'm a pony. Ain't ya ever seen a pony before, mister?"

You slowly shake your head and then glance around the room, hoping there would be someone in the room who sees the same thing you're seeing. But alas, it’s just you and Applejack. You could go through all the cars and find someone to show this strange pony to. But when a mystery as surreal as this is presented to you, you dare not take your eyes off it, lest it disappears to the normalcy of reality.

“What’s a pony doing on this train?” you ask aloud.

She smiles. “Ah’m off to see my Aunt and Uncle Orange! They live alllll the way in Manehattan.”

You can't help but quirk an eyebrow. “Don't you mean Manhattan?”

She giggles. “Now that's a funny way a sayin’ Manehattan.”

You frown at hearing that. There is the slight possibility you might not even be in the same universe anymore.

“Mind if Ah sit here?” she asks while staring at you with those big eyes of hers.

You shake your head dumbly as you try to figure this all out. “Not at all. Go right ahead.”

She tosses her bindle in the seat and sits across from you. First thing you notice is how Applejack looks so much like a dog in the way she sits. The second thing you notice is that she isn't wearing anything and that her rear end is very much touching the seat she’s sitting on. You're suddenly aware of your own seat and the likelihood that Applejack isn't the only pony to ride this train.

You move your briefcase to the floor beside your feet and make a mental note to burn your pants later.

“Golly, would ya look at that?” she says while looking out the window. “We must be goin’ pretty fast.”

“First time riding a train?” you ask.

“Yep! Granny let me go on my own.”

Applejack looked a little young, or at least sounded pretty young, to be traveling alone. Then again, she’s a pony. For all you know, a grown pony could sound and act like a seven-year-old kid. Regardless, it's a little worrisome.

“Are your parents okay with this? Wouldn't they be worried about you?”

She grows quiet, and if you weren't watching closely, you would have missed the slight falter in her smile. But she smiles nonetheless.

“Ma and Pa aren't around anymore. But Ah still have other ponies who worry about me. Like Granny and Big Mac.”

You don't know what else to say, other than to say, “Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don't be. It's not like you could a’ known.”

You shift your gaze to your twiddling thumbs, trying to think of something else to say.

“Where are you from anyways?” you ask. Though what you really want to ask is, “Where are we?”

“Ponyville! Me, my brother, my granny, and my baby sis live on an apple farm. We grow the best apples!” she exclaims proudly.

“An apple farm, huh? Must be tough growing apples,” you say. “Though, I’m not really cut out for that kind of work.”

“Well,” she begins, “there’s always lots to do, and it gets a pony real tired. But it's the good kind of tired, y’know?”

You know a lot about being tired. Spending hours in a small cubic office in front of a computer somehow manages to drain you. But, you can honestly say that you've never known what it’s like to get tired from picking apples. Getting sweaty with dirt on your pants. Open skies instead of a ceiling and the hot sun on your back instead of buzzing fluorescent lights. You nod your head slowly. “I think I get what you're saying.”

She plops down in her seat. “You should try it sometimes.”

In the lull of our conversation, Applejack had taken out a framed picture from her bindle. There were two ponies like her, except bigger and most likely older. They didn't look like the type of ponies to get their hooves dirty like Applejack. What could a little girl like her have in common with city ponies like them?

You don't want to pry, but if Manehattan was anything like your world’s counterpart, then a little farmer girl like her would surely get lost among the sea of people, or ponies in this case.

“Relatives?” you ask, pointing at the picture.

“Eeyup! Aunt and Uncle Orange. Ah'm paying them a visit to get a taste of the sophisticated life and get a cutie mark.”

“A cutie mark?”

“Boy, you sure do live under a rock. Ain’t ya seen a cutie mark before?” she asks.

You think about asking but decide not to. Why bother asking when you will never see this pony again when this ordeal is over. Rather, you say: “And you think you’ll get one in Manehattan?

“‘Course, I will!

“Applejack, do you like working on the farm?”

“Sure do.”

“Then, why go out of your way to go to Manehattan?”

“Listen,” she says, shooting you a serious look. “I've done just about everything to get my cutie mark in Ponyville. Lassoing. Hog wrestling. You name it. I'm tired of waiting, and nothing ever comes from waiting, except for being made fun of for being the only one without one.”

That ends the conversation. She gets up and trots to the other side of the train to look out the window. Her back is turned toward you, keeping you from pursuing any conversation with her. So, you stare out your window and think about all the things Applejack has said, and you can't help but wonder that both people and ponies aren’t so different from each other. Perhaps like people, ponies have a tendency to be unhappy with their current situation.

You look at your watch, hoping that by some chance it will make this ride shorter. How long is this train ride? You still need to get back and explain your absence to your boss. Enough time has passed that you're starting to feel a slight hunger. You open your briefcase with a click and notice Applejack’s ears have turned towards your direction. You pull out a brown paper bag with your lunch and reach in. The crinkling of the bag draws Applejack’s attention, but she turns her head away at a moment’s notice. Your hand brings out a sandwich, and you start taking a bite. You’d offer the sandwich but thought better than to give a small pony a ham sandwich. You finish it quickly before she gets the chance to look back.

When you open a cup of tapioca pudding, however, you hear a growl coming from Applejack’s direction. You stare at your pudding cup and then towards the pony. Sighing, you stand up and set the cup next to Applejack on the seat. Her ears perk up at your footsteps, and when she turns around, her eyes are on the sweet next to her. She glances at you, but you pretend to busy yourself with your belongings, shuffling through your suitcase. Like a curious animal, she eyes the cup and sniffs the pudding. Her tongue dips into it experimentally, and her eyes light up like a child who has discovered candy for the first time. She pushes her muzzle into it and eats it up, lapping up bits of leftover tapioca. When she's done, she has a creamy moustache below her nose and only now notices your gaze directed at her.

She embarrassingly wipes her mouth with a hoof. “All right, ya got me.” She smacks her lips. “Pretty good stuff you got there.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s just something I picked up from the store.”

As you pull out an apple, Applejack runs up to you. “Oh, an apple!” She inspects it in your hand. “It’s an Ambrosia apple. They’re grown at my apple orchard. Did you know that it was named after my great aunt, Ambrosia?”

You smile. “Really? I didn't know that.” You hold the apple to her. “Want it?”

“Oh no, I shouldn't,” she says. Her stomach chooses that moment to grumble against her.

“Did you pack a lunch?” you ask.

A blush forms under her freckles. She nods her head. “But Ah ate it before Ah got on the train.”

You hand her the apple. “Just take it anyway. I'm already full,” you lie.

“Oh. Gee, thanks.”

Rather than taking the apple from you, she takes a bite out of it, still in your hand. Wet juices run down your palm. You don't grimace when she does this and patiently wait as Applejack finishes off the core and everything.

“Not bad,” she says. “But they're not as sweet as the ones Ah’ve got on the farm. You're in for a real treat if you ever stop by.”

You wipe your hand with a handkerchief from your pocket. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Applejack sits next to you again by the window. After all your worrying and questioning, you never really stopped to look out the window and enjoy the scenery. The part of you that wants to worry about your job and focus on getting back home is silent. Your boss can wait. So, why not do what any child would do and just enjoy the ride. The destination, wherever the heck it may be, will come later.

As you watch over Applejack’s shoulder and watch the trees go by, she pulls on your arm. “Look! It's Cloudsdale! That’s where pegasi live.”

When you look where she's pointing, your jaw drops. There is a city literally made of clouds sitting smack dab in the middle of the sky. And more importantly, did she just say “pegasi”? You catch the tail end of Applejack’s question.

“What was that?” you ask.

She looks at you, still clinging onto your arm with both hooves. “Do you think they grow apples up there?”

You look up at the cloud city, and there's just no way a tree is going to grow a thousand feet in the air on a bed of water droplets. But then again, stranger things have happened, like a young talking pony or a city made of clouds.

You shrug your shoulders. “Who knows, Applejack? But if there aren't, I'm sure an apple pony like you can make it happen.”

She beams at the compliment and laughs.

“Ah’m going to need wings first before that happens.”

Time passes by with a game of “I Spy” and cloud watching. Before you know it, the ride soon comes to a stop. The train whistles as it pulls into a station and screeches to a halt. Outside, you see skyscrapers and what looks to be the Statue of Liberty, sort of.

Applejack turns to you with a wistful smile. “Looks like this is my stop,” she says. She picks up her bindle and starts heading to the door with you escorting her out. When she stops outside the door, she looks back at you. “Thanks again. It was starting to feel lonely traveling by myself before you showed up.”

“You’re welcome.” You give a worrying look and kneel onto one knee. “Now, are you sure you're going to be all right traveling alone in the city?”

“Hey! Ah’m a big filly now. Ah can take care of myself just fine!” she says, smiling.

“All right, Miss Applejack,” you say, chuckling. You pat her head, earning an adorable pout from the filly. “I know you'll get your cutie mark soon. Even if you don't, it's not the end of everything. Life isn't meant to be rushed, so enjoy the ride and take in the scenery. Because if you don't look around, you'll be missing out on things you’ve never noticed before.”

She slowly nods, sinking into a deep thoughtfulness. “Hey mister. Ah never got your name.”

You mentally slap yourself. All this talk with Applejack and you never once said your name. Talk about being a poor acquaintance…

“Sorry about that, Applejack. My name is…”

A train whistle cuts you off, and the door closes. You run to the car’s windows in time to see the train slowly move. Applejack is running alongside, trying to keep up with you.

“Buh bye, mister! Next time we meet, Ah’m gonna have a cutie mark!”

Through the window, you wave goodbye as the train leaves the station. A slight sorrow weighs on your mind at having met a friend, someone you can really talk to, and then departing just as sudden as she appeared. As you sink in your seat with your briefcase by your side, the room darkens. The train enters another tunnel. Nothing has changed compared to the first tunnel, except for the baggage of emotions and thoughts you're carrying. Thoughts that perhaps, by some chance of good fortune, you will meet her again.

Your moment of darkness ends when light cuts through the windows, and you find yourself back in the city you're used to. The familiar sight of your destination brings some relief of being back to your world. When you step off the train, you're surrounded by a sea of people,all in a hurry to be someplace else. You push through the crowd until you stop to rest by a newstand. A clock standing by the stand shows that only an hour had passed, but your watch says differently. It wasn't a dream, so what exactly just happened? You fix your tie and head to your workplace with briefcase in hand.

You idly tap a pen on a piece of paper as you stare out the window. From the 22nd floor of the office building, you have a great view of the city. But what you're really focused on is the sky. During your lunch break, you've tried to strike up a conversation with coworkers. You once mentioned how one of the clouds in the sky looked like a pony, but all it earned you were odd looks. It was only until you started talking about numbers and work, the things that truly mattered, that they began chatting, and you are left feeling alone and different in an office building filled with a hundred other people. So here you sit, staring out the window and away from anyone else. When you see a particularly large cloud, you're reminded of a city floating in the sky, and you're left to ponder what Applejack was doing right now. Is she safe? Did she get the cutie mark she’s been wanting?

When work has finally ended, you leave for the train station. Your steps are slow and heavy, and you are tired, though nothing like the tiredness of working on a farm or picking apples, but still tired nonetheless. At the station, you stand among other people who have just gotten off of work, just like you. And just like you, they're wearing some kind of suit and a few are holding some kind of briefcase. Every few seconds, someone checks their watch, as if they’re expected to be somewhere. You usually don't notice these things, but now that you have, it's kind of hard not to notice the details.

You’re so busy observing other people that you hardly notice your train coming into the station. You take your belongings and move through the bustling crowd, just barely making it onto the train before the door closes. Though once you’re on the train, a welcoming sense of familiarity hits you as you notice the low seats, made fit for a small equine, the colorful interior of the train, and the many windows that line both sides. Like before, there’s no one in the car you’re in, despite the number of people boarding the train before you did.

You take your seat by one of the windows. It’s too dark outside to see anything, especially with all the trees that fill the window’s view. You sigh. You’re alone on this train again, and you’re chance encounter with Applejack was merely a one-time thing. She has gone to Manehattan to see her uncle and aunt in order to live the “sophisticated” life, whatever that may entail.

When you move to check your watch, you stop and frown. You take off your watch and stow it in your pocket. Your attention drifts back to the window, watching as shadows pass by in a blur.

You hear a door open, the one that connects to the other cars. You turn around, half expecting to see the little filly from before. But it isn’t her. It’s a group of ponies, all mares and each of a different color. When they notice you, their chatter ceases. The herd of ponies subtly huddle closer, and hushed whispers float in the air. The rainbow-maned one with wings gives you a suspicious look. The other one with wings hides behind the white unicorn, whose eyes are looking over you with a critical eye. The other unicorn (with wings?) gives a curious look, and the pink one without any horn or wings is… jumping in place excitedly.

You avert your eyes, trying to feign disinterest. No doubt they are cautious of you as you are of them, though Applejack, the little filly, is the exception. With your head turned towards the window, you hear the clip-clop of slow hoofbeats making their way to you. In the reflection of the window, you see something orange behind you, and the hushed whispers grow harsher and more frantic.

“Mind if Ah sit here?” a mare asks.

Curiosity pulls at you, forcing you turn around and meet the pony. She is orange with a blonde mane. A stetson hat sits on her head, and three red apples adorn her flank. This pony reminds you so much Applejack, but this pony is much bigger than the little filly you met.

You shake your head. “Not at all. Go right ahead,” you say.

She hops into the seat next to you. The company she had shown up with have decided to take a seat across the aisle from you two. Some of them shared unsure looks but stayed anyway. The pony next to you looks strikingly like Applejack, but it couldn’t be. It’s only been a half a day since you last saw her. The mare catches you staring, and she’s smiling.

“Find something interesting?” she asks jokingly.

You hesitate answering that in fear of making a fool of yourself. “Nothing. You just remind me of someone,” you say.

She laughs, earning the attention of the other ponies in the train car. “You know, you remind me of someone else, too. Real nice fella. He once told me that Ah could grow apples on a cloud.”

You freeze. She’s giving you a smirk that shows how much she knows. You hazard a guess. “Applejack?”

She slaps a hoof on your back. “Took you long enough, mister!” She takes off her hat, and it is actually her.

“You’ve grown,” you say.

“That’s what happens when years go by,” she says.

Your eyes trail down to the three apples. “Your cutie mark?” you ask, pointing to it.

“Eeyup! Would you believe that Ah got this back in Ponyville?”

“What about Manehattan? What about living the sophisticated life?”

She waved her hoof. “Wasn’t for me. Found what Ah was looking for back home.” She jerks her head towards the other mares, who are all now curious about you. You wave to them, and they, hesitantly at first, wave back at you. Well, everyone except the pink pony was hesitant.

“What about you?” she asks. “You ain’t aged a bit. Did ya find what you were lookin’ for?”

You smile. “You know… I always thought I was missing something. I’ve been too busy with other matters that I never bothered to go look for it. And many people go on with their lives, not knowing what they’re looking for. But I’d say that I found what I wanted.”

“What was it?”

You put a hand on her head and stroke her behind the ear, earning an adorable pout from her.

“It’s a secret.” You chuckle. “But I’m sure you can take a guess at what it is.”

The trees outside the window turn into an open meadow, revealing the moon, the stars, and a city made of clouds. You and Applejack share a look out the window. People and ponies will come and go, and goodbyes will be said. But for now, you will look outside that window and look at every pony and person you meet.

Nothing in the world can ever be the same if not for meeting a little pony you happened to encounter by chance.

Author's Notes:

For the acquaintance I met on a train a year ago.

Happy Birthday, Jazzmin.