“Veda… hurry up. If you don’t leave in five minutes, you’ll miss the train.”

That was Sia—my close friend, my roommate, and unofficially my hostel mom—warning me for the third time. She nagged a lot, but it came from care. Among the four of us, she was the most responsible. Smrithi and Avanika had already left early that morning.

I nodded, still standing in front of the mirror, adjusting my appearance one last time. Sia stared at me in disbelief. I could almost hear her thoughts—how can she still worry about how she looks when she’s already late? I smiled faintly, grabbed my bags, and waved goodbye before stepping out.

“Text me when you reach home,” she called after me.

“And update me when you reach the major stops.”

Her voice followed me down the corridor, and I felt quietly thankful for friends like her.

After a short walk, I reached the bus stop and boarded a bus to the nearest railway station—Drudhnagar.

This was our first trip home after joining college. The four of us had known each other since our bachelor’s days, but our destinations were scattered. Sia lived the closest—just two hours away. Mine was the farthest. Nearly eight.

The evening traffic was relentless. By the time the bus reached the station, more than forty minutes had passed. The moment it stopped, I ran. Somehow—breathless and anxious—I managed to get on the train just in time.

I’ve always thought of myself as an ambivert. I talk only when the energy feels right. Or at least, that’s how I explain myself.

I had to change trains at Shivgiri Junction. From there, another train would take me to my hometown, Gangardri. This was the last train that could get me there in time. Many passengers were rushing for the same connection, and the compartment was crowded beyond comfort. Standing felt like a task.

Five long hours later, I reached Shivgiri Junction. My legs ached, almost numb. I had one hour and twenty minutes before the next train arrived. Spotting a lonely seat at the edge of the platform, I claimed it gratefully and sent Sia a message—she had already reached home.

My phone played Bridgerton, episode two—Shock and Delight—when the announcement echoed through the station.

I boarded the train as soon as it arrived. Though it ran under a different name, this train started from Shivgiri itself. Within minutes, seats began to fill. Usually, I never needed to place my bag on the seat beside me—but today was different.

The bag was heavy. As I tried to adjust it, my balance slipped.

I almost fell forward.

Our eyes met !

Our eyes locked, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. His gaze was deep, steady—dark brown with an intensity that held me in place. It wasn’t intrusive, just… aware. As if he had noticed more than he should have.

The moment stretched longer than it should have.

I broke away first, straightening up and sitting down, my heart beating louder than the train around me. I acted like nothing had happened.

But something had shifted.

...****************...

I love listening to music at the highest safe volume while travelling. Somehow, it always feels different on the road. I don’t care about the language or the genre—I just let the songs wash over me and feel them. Thanks to the student discount, I had a premium Spotify account, which honestly felt like a small luxury.

The moment I hit play, a romantic track from Dear Comrade filled my ears.

It only deepened the mood I was already in. And that wasn’t good. My thoughts began to wander into dangerous territory—soft, dreamy, reckless. Just then, my earphones beeped, pulling me back to reality. It was a message from my mom. She always knew exactly when I would arrive, yet still asked.

“When will you reach the station?”

I replied, “If there’s no delay, half past eight.”

I paused the music and switched back to Netflix. But every time a scene edged toward something steamy, I became suddenly aware of where I was. I shifted slightly, careful not to draw attention.

Still… I felt someone watching me.

I looked up.

It was him.

This time, our eyes held longer. Much longer. It felt like a quiet conversation—unspoken, but vivid. His eyes were breathtakingly beautiful, deep in a way that made my chest tighten. They sent butterflies racing through me, and I felt warmth rise to my cheeks. I must have been blushing, because he smiled.

And that smile made his eyes glow.

I hadn’t known eyes could be so captivating.

As our gaze lingered, our feet brushed lightly. Just a touch—but it sent a current through me. The air between us seemed charged. With every second, the heat inside me grew, even though cold wind rushed through the train.

Then the girl sitting beside me broke the spell.

She asked if I could plug in her phone charger since I was sitting near the socket. I agreed and helped her, but it quickly became a mistake. Once her phone was charging, she kept talking—asking question after question. I wasn’t good at creating awkwardness, so I answered politely, even when it meant revealing more about myself than I wanted.

All the while, I felt his attention on me.

I couldn’t see him, but I could feel it—like his ears were tuned to every word. Maybe it was just because I found him attractive, but his quiet curiosity felt more charming than intrusive.

Two hours later, my home station finally arrived. Relief washed over me. I gathered my bags and stood up. My eyes found him again.

He was still seated.

This was the second-last stop, so I guessed he would get down at the next one. Then why did my chest feel so heavy? Should I ask his name? Would that seem strange? What would he think of me?

Too many thoughts crowded my mind.

All I really wanted was for our gaze to last just a little longer.

Slowly, I walked toward the door.

..................…...

Each step felt heavy—heavier than the two bags pulling at my arms. My body moved forward, obedient and mechanical, but my mind stayed behind, caught somewhere between a pair of brown eyes and a moment that refused to loosen its grip on me.

It was nothing, I told myself. Just a glance. Just a coincidence.

Still, my breath felt uneven. I was about to step down when a voice reached me from behind—deep, calm, and impossibly warm.

“Can you tell me your name again?”

The world paused.

Oh, Veda. This—this—was the moment you were pretending not to hope for. A rush spread through me, sudden and electric, making my fingers curl tighter around my bag straps. I turned slowly, afraid the spell would break if I moved too fast.

“Veda,” I said, my voice softer than I expected.

“Veda Hari.”

He watched me as I spoke—really watched me—as if the name mattered. As if he wanted to remember it.

“And you?” I asked, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside my chest.

A faint smile touched his lips. Not rushed. Not casual.

“Do we exchange everything right now?” he said gently. “We still have about two hundred meters to walk to the exit.”

Something fluttered low in my stomach.

I nodded, cheeks warming, suddenly aware of how close we were walking now. Not touching—yet close enough to feel his presence beside me, steady and grounding.

“I’m Nivin,” he said after a pause. “Do you live nearby?”

“No,” I replied. “I still have around eight kilometers to go—northwest.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering.

“Same. Just two kilometers more for me.”

Our steps fell into an unspoken rhythm.

“Where are you travelling from?” he asked.

“Drudhnagar,” I said, turning toward him. “And you-”

Before he could answer, my brother appeared, abruptly pulling me back into reality.

The moment cracked.

I turned to Nivin reluctantly, already missing the quiet space we had created. He stood there—tall, composed, effortlessly attractive. Clean lines. Calm eyes. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but claimed it anyway.

“Bye,” I said, wishing the word meant see you again.

He held my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Long enough to make my heart ache.

The walk to my mom’s car felt unreal. My thoughts chased after him, tumbling over each other. Should I have asked for his number? Did he feel it too? A quiet sadness crept in—not sharp, just tender.

My brother climbed into the front seat. I slid into the back, greeted my mom, then looked back toward the station exit—hoping for a final glimpse. Even a shadow.

Then I remembered.

He lived just two kilometers away.

The thought settled in me like a promise.

Traffic stalled near the railway crossing. Ten minutes passed. The car in front moved, then stopped again.

And that’s when I saw him.

Standing at the bus stop.

My breath caught.

He was scanning the road, hands in his pockets, unaware—until I spoke.

“He’s someone I know,” I said to my mom, trying to sound casual.

“Can we drop him on the way?”

My mom nodded without hesitation.

I rolled down the window.

“Hey, Nivin,” I called.

He looked up surprised.

For a heartbeat, he just stared—then recognition softened his face. His smile was slow, genuine, and unmistakably meant for me.

“Do you want a lift?” I asked.

He walked toward the car, eyes never leaving mine.

“Why not?” he said.

“Thank you.”

And just like that, the moment didn’t end.

It deepened.