Apple Pages alternatives when the novel needs a desk

Mira stood under the platform light. The train was late again. She almost texted Jonah — then put the phone away.

The platform smelled like wet iron. She counted the tiles between her boots and the yellow line — something to do with her hands that wasn’t the phone.

Somewhere down the line a horn sounded — long, then gone. She kept the letter in her coat and did not look at the clock again.

…