A Train to Delhi

It was a quiet night, and the Mumbai railway station sparkled with soft lights. The platform was filled with the sounds of busy travelers, train whistles, and the hustle of vendors. In the midst of the chaos stood Krishna, a quiet writer with messy hair, holding his notebook tightly. He was traveling to Delhi for a literature event where his random book would be launched.

Krishna wasn’t the type to enjoy the crowds or the noise. He preferred his own company—his notebook, his thoughts, and the characters he created. As the train arrived with a loud whistle, Krishna’s mind was still lost in the story he was planning.

The train doors opened, and he boarded, looking for his seat. He found it by the window and settled in. The dim light inside the train gave the compartment a peaceful feeling. Krishna opened his notebook, eager to get lost in his thoughts once again.

“Excuse me, is this seat 36A?” A bright voice interrupted his quiet moment.

Krishna looked up to see a young woman standing in front of him. She wore a light pink kurta, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She carried a guitar case on her back and a big backpack.

“Yes, it is,” Krishna replied softly, moving aside to let her sit.

“Thanks! I’m Kiara,” she said, her smile lighting up the room. Krishna nodded politely but quickly went back to his notebook.

Kiara didn’t seem to notice his quiet nature. She settled in and immediately began talking. “So, what are you writing? A story? A poem?” she asked, looking at his notebook.

Krishna hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking to strangers, but her energy was hard to ignore. “Just some ideas,” he said.

Kiara’s eyes lit up. “Ah, a writer! That’s amazing. I’m a musician,” she said proudly, tapping the guitar case. “I’m going to Delhi for a music competition. What about you?”

Krishna wasn’t much of a talker, but Kiara’s excitement was contagious. He slowly began to listen as she spoke about her random for music, her dreams of becoming a famous singer, and how she found peace in her guitar.

The train began to move, and the cool night air flowed through the window. Kiara offered Krishna a samosa from her bag, and he accepted with a smile. They shared tea and snacks as the train journeyed on, the sound of the train mixing with Kiara’s laughter. Krishna found himself relaxing in her company, something he hadn’t expected.

“Why do you look so serious, Krishna?” Kiara asked suddenly, noticing his quiet demeanor.

Krishna glanced out the window, watching the world blur past. “I guess I’m just used to being alone. I write stories, but I don’t really live them. I keep everything inside.”

Kiara smiled softly. “Maybe it’s time to start living your own story,” she said gently.

As the hours passed, the two of them talked more and more. Kiara shared her dreams of traveling the world with her music, and Krishna opened up about his struggles as a writer—how he felt like his words were the only thing he could truly control. He told her how his stories were his escape, his way of dealing with the world.

Kiara listened carefully, her eyes filled with understanding. “You know, Krishna,” she said thoughtfully, “you’re like a beautiful book, but no one has opened its pages yet. You need to let someone read your story.”

The train passed through small towns, and the night deepened. Kiara took out her guitar and began to play a soft, soothing melody. The music seemed to fill the entire compartment. Krishna closed his eyes, letting the music take him to another place—a place where he could feel alive, where his heart wasn’t just wrapped in stories but in real moments.

As the night grew late, Kiara sang a song she had written about chasing dreams and finding random. Krishna felt something shift inside him. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so alone. He was no longer just a writer in a quiet world—he was a part of something real, something beautiful.

When the train neared Delhi, Kiara turned to him and said, “I know we’re both going our separate ways, but I think we’ve connected in a way that’s rare. I’m glad we met, Krishna.”

She handed him a small piece of paper with her number on it. “Call me when you feel like talking. I’ll always be here to listen.”

Krishna looked at the paper and then at Kiara. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, something he hadn’t done in years. “I will. Good luck with your competition, Kiara,” he said, his voice soft but warm.

They said their goodbyes, and Krishna watched her walk away. As he made his way to the literature event in Delhi, he couldn’t stop thinking about her—about the way she had made him feel.

A week later, Krishna picked up his phone and dialed Kiara’s number. They talked for hours, like old friends catching up. Their conversations flowed easily, and soon they began meeting in different cities, sharing their stories and dreams. Krishna’s writing changed. He started writing stories filled with emotion, inspired by the way Kiara made him feel alive. Kiara’s music grew deeper too, her songs filled with the memories they had created together.

Years later, Krishna and Kiara were back on a train together, this time as husband and wife. They were no longer strangers—they were soulmates who had found each other in the most unexpected way. The train that had once carried them apart was now the one that carried them together, through life, hand in hand.

And every time Krishna wrote a new story, he remembered that one night—the night the train brought Kiara into his life. It wasn’t just a journey from one city to another. It was the beginning of a new chapter in both their lives—a chapter full of random, dreams, and stories that would never end.