It was a cold January evening, and the Pune railway station buzzed with its usual mix of hawkers, families, and sleepy travelers. Arjun stood on Platform 3, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The 7:15 train to Mumbai was delayed—again.
He wasn’t going to Mumbai.
He’d bought a ticket just to see her off.
Aanya stood a few steps away, wrapped in a navy shawl, her hair tied in a loose braid the way she always wore it during exams. She had three books clutched to her chest, and every so often, she’d glance toward him. Not nervously. Just… thoughtfully.
They had met four years ago at the Fergusson College canteen. She’d asked if she could share his table. He’d spilled chai on his notes trying to say yes. Since then, everything had been both ordinary and not.
They were never officially a couple. No grand declarations. Just long walks along JM Road, editing each other’s resumes, and endless cups of filter coffee at Vaishali. And now, she was leaving.
“I’ll write to you,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking the hum of station announcements.
Arjun looked at her. “You don’t have to.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t think I’ll know how to reply.”
She smiled, then shook her head. “You always say things like that. Like you’re trying to be brave and tragic at the same time.”
A bell rang. A train pulled in slowly, the headlights slicing through the mist. Not hers yet, but close.
“I could’ve asked you to stay,” he said, softer now.
“But you didn’t.”
“Because I knew you’d go anyway. And you should.”
They stood in silence, the sound of luggage wheels and tea vendors floating around them like static.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Not of Delhi. Just… of forgetting this.”
“You won’t,” he said. “And if you do, I’ll still remember enough for both of us.”
The final announcement came. Her train.
They didn’t hug. Didn’t cry. She simply touched his arm as she passed, the same way she had during their first campus fest when she’d pulled him into a photo booth unexpectedly.
And just like that, she was gone.
That night, Arjun didn’t go home. He walked the length of FC Road twice, stopped by the empty college gates, and then finally, without really planning to, ended up outside Vaishali. Closed, of course. But he smiled anyway.
Maybe he’d reply to her letter when it came. Maybe he wouldn’t.
But for now, he walked home with the smell of old books, train stations, and filter coffee following him like a ghost that knew its way around his memories.
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