Priyangshu Patil
1
Sahil sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the clock as the minute hand crept closer to midnight. The sound of crickets outside his window blended with the faint hum of the small village, but inside the room, there was a heavy silence. Tomorrow, or rather, tonight, he would be leaving his small town in Bihar and embarking on a journey that had always felt distant, almost like a dream. A dream that felt too big, too uncertain, yet necessary.
He stood up and glanced at his suitcase, neatly packed with a few clothes, a notebook, and his father’s old letters — the letters that had stopped arriving five years ago. Ravi Kumar, his father, an architect in Kolkata, had promised to visit once, but the visits never came. Over the years, the letters became fewer, the calls even rarer. Sahil’s mother, Shanti, never spoke of it, but he could see the quiet disappointment in her eyes every time his father’s name was mentioned. The cracks in their relationship were too deep to fix, and Sahil often wondered if his father was ever truly coming back.
His mother had said little about his trip. She had packed his bag and quietly asked him if he was sure about this decision. There were no tearful goodbyes, no heartfelt words, just a simple, “Go. You’ll see your father.” She had always been practical, never too expressive, and Sahil couldn’t tell if she was just resigned to the idea or if she was truly afraid of what might happen.
He stepped outside, the night air cool against his skin. The train station, a small, unassuming building, was barely visible in the darkness. He had always been told that Kolkata was a city full of opportunity, a place where dreams came true. Yet, a part of him was still unsure. The reality of that city—its chaotic streets, its bustling life—felt both exhilarating and intimidating. Sahil had heard countless stories about Kolkata, but they were always from a distance, from people who had either succeeded or been swallowed whole by the city. He didn’t know which one he would be.
As he reached the station, the faint sound of a train whistle pierced the air. His heart skipped a beat. The midnight train to Kolkata was waiting, its headlights cutting through the darkness like a beacon of possibility. He looked around and saw a few people waiting, none of them familiar. The rusted tracks stretched endlessly, much like the path he was about to take. He felt like a small part of something much bigger than himself.
Sahil boarded the train, finding his seat by the window. As he settled in, he couldn’t help but wonder if his father would even recognize him after all these years. Would their relationship be like strangers trying to reconnect, or would it feel like no time had passed? He didn’t know the answer, and that uncertainty lingered like a shadow over him.
Just then, the train doors slid shut, and with a low rumble, the train began to move. The small town of his childhood started to fade into the distance, swallowed by the night. Sahil turned to look out the window, watching the darkness stretch ahead of him, and for the first time, he felt the weight of the journey ahead—both the physical one to Kolkata and the emotional one he had no idea how to navigate.
In the seat across from him, a young woman sat with her head buried in a book. Her name was Mukti, though he didn’t know it yet. Her presence felt like a soft promise of something unexpected—another story unfolding, another journey that had yet to begin.
The train rolled on through the night, its rhythmic clatter a constant companion to the thoughts swirling in Sahil’s mind. As the miles passed by, he could feel the heaviness of his decision settle deeper into his chest. The further he traveled from his small town in Bihar, the more uncertain he became. What was he really hoping to find in Kolkata? A connection with his father? A sense of belonging in a city that felt as distant and unfamiliar as the life he was about to leave behind?
He glanced over at the girl sitting across from him. She was still reading her book, but her face held an expression of quiet intensity, her eyes flickering over the pages with focus. Something about her posture—the way she seemed absorbed, yet distant—caught his attention. It was as if she was trying to escape something in her own thoughts, just like him.
The train swayed gently, and the sound of the wheels on the tracks seemed to match the pacing of his own heart. Sahil had always been a quiet observer, content with his own company, but there was something magnetic about the girl’s presence. He shifted in his seat, feeling the sudden need to break the silence.
“Long journey ahead?” he asked, his voice breaking the stillness of the night.
She looked up, momentarily startled, before a small, almost apologetic smile formed on her lips. “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft, with an edge of something tired. “It’s been a long few days.”
Sahil nodded, unsure how to continue. He wasn’t used to striking up conversations with strangers, but there was something about her that made him want to understand. Maybe it was the exhaustion he saw in her eyes, the same kind of exhaustion he felt within himself.
“I’m Sahil,” he said, his tone more tentative now.
“Mukti,” she replied, her gaze shifting back to the window for a brief moment. The smile had faded, replaced by a look of contemplation.
They both sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the train filling the void between them. Sahil could feel the tension in the air, but there was an unspoken understanding that made him hesitant to ask too many questions. He was aware that people on trains often had their own stories, and sometimes, it was better to let them unfold naturally.
“So, you’re heading to Kolkata too?” Sahil asked, trying again.
Mukti glanced at him, her eyes slightly narrowing as if assessing his question. She nodded, then shrugged. “I guess you could say that,” she said cryptically. There was a pause before she continued, her voice quieter this time. “I’m escaping… running away, actually.”
Sahil tilted his head, intrigued by her response. “Running away?”
She sighed, closing the book in her hands with a soft thud. “From my parents. From the pressure. From everything, really.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and unfinished. Sahil could sense there was much more beneath the surface, but he didn’t want to pry. He understood the weight of family expectations all too well. His own mother’s silent disappointment, her never-ending wishes for him to settle down, to follow the path of tradition—Sahil had always felt the strain of that pressure. But Mukti’s words had a different kind of weight to them, something more rebellious, something that spoke of emotional turmoil rather than just a difference of opinion.
“I get that,” Sahil said slowly. “My father… well, we haven’t really spoken in years. He lives in Kolkata, but it’s like we’re strangers now. I’m not sure if it’s worth trying to fix things.”
Mukti looked at him now, her eyes softening as if she understood the pain in his words. “It’s not easy, is it?” she said quietly. “Trying to figure out who you are when everyone around you has their own ideas of who you should be.”
Sahil met her gaze, and for the first time since he had boarded the train, he felt a flicker of connection. It wasn’t just the city they were heading to, or the fact that they were both strangers on this journey. It was the realization that they were both running away in some way, both trying to escape from lives they didn’t fully understand. The only difference was that she seemed to be running away from her parents’ expectations, while he was running toward something—toward a father he barely knew, toward a future that seemed too uncertain to hold onto.
Mukti’s eyes wandered back to the window, and Sahil could sense that she was retreating into herself once again. He didn’t push her to say more; he knew what it was like to keep things locked inside. The train clicked and clattered on, a constant motion forward, just like the journey they were both on.
They didn’t speak much after that, but there was a quiet understanding that had settled between them. They were two young people traveling toward an unknown future, each with their own ghosts, their own stories.
The night stretched on, and the city of Kolkata, with its lights and its chaos, grew nearer with every passing moment. Sahil’s thoughts drifted back to his father—would they finally talk? Would they ever bridge the gap that had formed over the years?
But for now, as the train rumbled on through the dark, he was content with this brief connection, this fleeting conversation. There was comfort in knowing that someone else, even a stranger, was also trying to escape, trying to find their way, just like him.
