It was the sacred month of shravan. The month considered as the holiest month of lord Shiva. It was drizzling outside. For some the rain was a relief from exhaustion, for others it was the month of problems. Some found joy in the rain, while others struggled with the difficulty it brought. While some had spent months longing for the first drops of rain, but others only worried about the mud and the mess it would cause.

However, for children, that same rain used to be a hassle for going to school in the morning. If it stopped at the last minute, they would feel disappointed. But sometimes, while reaching school drenched in that same rain, they would jump with joy to find it closed. Then, they would return home playing and laughing, soaking in those same gentle drizzles.

On the other hand, it was Sunday. The clouds had surrounded the sun once more in the early hours. The dark overcast hadn't completely vanished, leaving the air filled with a strange peace. Yet, the quiet of the street was beginning to turn into noise, just as the hush of night transforms into the chaos of the day.

The lane echoed with the chirping of birds. Nearby, a forty-seven-year-old man was meticulously cleaning his blue scooter. Just a short distance away, a few boys in sleeveless vests and shorts were playing badminton; some were in the middle of a game, while others waited patiently for their turn.

From somewhere, the rhythmic chants of “Om Ghrini Suryaya Namaha…” and “Om Suryaya Namaha…” drifted through the air. Even in the light drizzle, a few women from the neighborhood stood on their rooftops, copper pots in hand, offering water to the Sun God.

One of them was Dhriti Chaudhary. Wrapped in a shawl with her head lightly covered, she stood on the rooftop just like every other morning, offering water to the Sun God—even though he remained hidden behind the clouds.

You could say the calendar had already stepped into 2026, the world had moved ahead and was full of artificial intelligence, where every emotion had become instant and digital.

But even then, on a slow Sunday morning, when soft sunlight came through the window and touched the cup of tea, Lata ji’s sweet voice playing from the old radio filled the air with warmth.

That voice felt like a pause in this fast-moving world.

Time had changed, technology had changed, but the peace in her voice was still the same — like coming back home after many years.

It felt like the last place where true comfort still lived, in the middle of today’s digital noise.

Eighty-year-old trembling fingers were moving over the old radio knob. Just a few moments ago, the voices of Lata Mangeshkar, Kishore Da, and Rafi Sahab were filling the room with sweetness.

But suddenly, a “heavy rain warning” interrupted the music. It not only disturbed the radio’s melody but also stopped the hands that were busy writing calculations in the diary.

Grandfather took a deep breath and gently tapped the radio twice. As soon as he did, the sound started playing again.

The old account diary was open on the table in front of him, and he went back to his calculations.

The half cup of tea kept beside him had now turned cold.

On the upper floor, a man about forty-eight years old named Ramesh was busy fixing some machine work. He was just about to turn on the switch when suddenly someone sneezed loudly.

He stopped his work and laughed, saying,

“Whenever I try to do something, why does someone sneeze at that exact moment?

Couldn’t it happen a little later?”

He left his work and went inside. Before he could even finish speaking, she sneezed again.

At that same moment, a girl stood in front of him holding a tray. He picked up a cup of hot tea from it.

While placing the tray down, she rolled her eyes and said,

“Papa, if I have a cold, of course I’ll sneeze.

How is that my fault?”

“Hmmm, did you take your medicine?” Papa asked while sipping his tea.

The girl softly said “shit” in her mind. She quickly went to find the medicine, ate two biscuits, mixed the medicine in warm water, and drank it. Yes, she cannot swallow tablets; since childhood, this has always been her problem.

“I took it, I took it,” she said. Her father smiled at her as if he already knew she had forgotten again.

Then she picked up her cup of tea when her mother’s voice reached her ears,

“Akshita, please play some bhajans. There should be devotional songs playing in the house early in the morning.”

“Okay, Mom,” she said and turned on the bhajan channel.

Then she gave the second cup of tea to her mother and took her own cup and sat on the other sofa.

“Get ready quickly, or you’ll miss the train,” her father said as he sat down on the sofa.

She thought to herself, “He must have said this at least ten times since morning,” and shook her head slightly, as if thinking, he will never change.

Then a song by Rajesh Khanna started playing. When her attention went to the song, she began humming,

“Zindagi ek pal hai suhana, yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana.”

(“Life is a beautiful moment, who knows what tomorrow will bring.”)

Peace and calm were spreading in the house when suddenly a cork from the children playing outside fell onto the steel roof of a shop. The children started shouting, asking someone to bring it down. Some of them began blaming each other, saying, “It’s because of you!”

The shopkeeper took a long stick and pushed the cork down. He said,

“If it goes up again, I won’t take it down. And is this even the time to play?”

Heavy rain for the past few days had made the weather cold.

To stay warm, Akshita wrapped a shawl around herself and kept sipping her tea.

She ignored the sounds of the neighborhood, just like she often ignored her relatives’ comments.

In the soft sunlight, the aunties of the neighborhood were sitting and talking to each other — about what happened today, who went where, and other small things.

After some time, it was almost twelve o’clock.

For the fifth time, Akshita’s father, while wearing his watch, called out,

“Akshita, hurry up.”

Akshita came running out, with a bag on her shoulder and another bag in her hands.

She stopped in front of the temple, quickly put her bags down, folded her hands, closed her eyes, and silently told God everything in her heart.

Then she picked up her bags and hurried again. In the living room, she touched her mother’s feet for blessings, kissed her on the cheek, hugged her, wiped the tears from her face, and told her to take care of herself. Controlling her emotions, she moved toward the stairs without stopping.

While she was going down the stairs, her father followed her, holding two bags in his hands.

“Walk slowly, you’ll fall,” he said.

By then, she had already kept the luggage near the main door. She quickly went downstairs and entered her grandparents’ room to take their blessings.

As she stepped inside, she saw herself in the mirror on the wall. Her steps stopped for a few moments.

The reflection in the mirror caught her attention — calm, graceful, and very beautiful.

She was wearing a black short kurti. Its long sleeves covered her arms, and only the tips of her wheat-colored fingers could be seen. She wore black pajama pants, and her wheat-colored feet looked even more beautiful in them.

A black dupatta was neatly placed over both her shoulders. It had fine red flower embroidery on it, which made her whole look even more lovely.

She slightly bent forward to fix the small black bindi on her forehead. Her hair was tied with a clutch clip, and as she bent down, a few baby hairs fell on her face, bothering her a little. At the same time, the small silver peacock-shaped earrings she was wearing moved gently, making the moment even more beautiful.

She quickly touched her grandparents’ feet, took their blessings, and came outside.

The auto had arrived. Her father quickly placed the luggage inside and again said,

“Hurry up, you’ll get late.”

Outside, Akshita hugged her mother, grandmother, and elder sister. She quickly told everyone to take care of themselves and then ran toward the auto.

Her long wavy hair, tied with a clutch, moved lightly as she hurried and sat in the auto. With a bag hanging on her shoulder, she began her journey toward a new city and a new chapter of her life.

The father and daughter had been sitting on that same old bench at the station for two hours. There was still one more hour left for the train to arrive. Light rain had started again, and the sound of raindrops hitting the tin roof could be heard clearly.

Just then, a call came from home — from “Mummy Shri.” Half of her worry ended when she found out that both of them had reached the station safely. The rest of her worry would only end after they got on the train.

Slowly, the station started getting crowded. Everyone was busy in their own way. Some were waiting for their loved ones to arrive, while others were looking for a place to sit with their heavy luggage. Because of the rainy holidays, many families looked happy, excited to travel together. Some experienced travelers had even spread a sheet on the platform and were resting there. The rain seemed to be playing hide and seek — sometimes pouring heavily, and sometimes stopping suddenly.

Akshita sat on the bench, sometimes watching the crowd and sometimes looking at the clock. One thought kept coming to her mind again and again: Papa Shri’s habit of reaching too early! Since morning, he had kept saying, “Hurry up, or you’ll miss the train,” and had brought her to the station three hours early. And on top of that, Indian Railways was adding fuel to the fire, as if during the daytime the train moved with the soul of a turtle inside it.

Akshita felt both irritation and a small smile at the same time. She knew this was nothing new. Every time it was the same. Fathers in India always rush to reach the station early, and during the day the train moves as slowly as a bullock cart.

While she was thinking all this, the train finally arrived. After some time, her father went to buy a bottle of water, and meanwhile the announcement was made:

“Attention please. Train number 1-8-6-2-5, Kosi Express, running from Purnea Court to Patna Junction via Mansi, Khagaria, and Bakhtiyarpur, has arrived on platform number one. Thank you.”

People started getting on the train and taking their seats. After a while, another announcement was made:

“Attention please. Train number 1-8-6-2-5, Kosi Express, is now departing from platform number one for Patna Junction. Thank you.”

The train announcement echoed across the platform. Akshita felt a strange restlessness inside her chest. And suddenly — she was no longer grown up.

She was six years old, that little baby girl.

The train had just started moving. A small girl was standing on the seat, holding the metal bars of the window. Her little fingers were holding them so tightly that they almost hurt. She kept stretching her neck, trying to see through the crowd outside.

“Papa kahan reh gaye…?” she asked in a shaking voice.

Outside, people were running. Whistles were blowing. The train wheels made loud sounds on the tracks.

“Mumma… Papa kahan gaye?” Her lower lip trembled.

Her mother gently pulled her down and said,

“Aayenge Papa… good children don’t cry like this.”

But the platform was slowly moving away.

The little girl’s eyes became wide. Everything outside was moving fast. What if Papa really stayed behind?

“Mumma… train chal padi… Papa chhoot gaye…”

Now she started crying badly. Tears rolled down her cheeks again and again. She tried to wipe them, but they didn’t stop.

She pressed her face against the window once more.

Then suddenly—

Between two compartments, she saw a familiar face. He was a little out of breath and holding a water bottle.

“Papa!”

She quickly jumped down from the seat and almost slipped while running toward him. As soon as he entered the coach, she hugged him tightly. Very tightly — as if she was afraid he would go away again.

She hid her face in his shirt. Her shoulders were shaking.

“Hum darr gaye the…” she said softly while crying.

He bent a little, held her face in his hands, and wiped her tears.

“Arre meri phool kumari… hum kaise chhoot sakte hain? Hum toh aapke super hero hain,” he said with a smile. Her crying slowly stopped. “Sach?” she asked while sniffing.

He nodded. She lifted her small hand like a superhero and said proudly, “Super hero!”

Then she clapped and laughed — still with a few tears in her eyes. Her mother looked at her father with a little anger and said,

“Last minute pe hi paani yaad aata hai…”

But she was also smiling. The little girl sat close to her father, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

She came back from her memories, when she heard her father's voice.

And just then, Papa came back. Do you really think he would miss the train? (Haha.) When we were little, we used to cry so much at the thought that Papa might get left behind at the railway station. And only when we saw him returning with a water bottle did we finally feel relieved that we were not alone.

They called Mom and told her that the train had left.

Patna Junction – At Night

Finally, in the cold night air, the train stopped at Patna Junction. Slowly, everyone started getting down. This city felt different. Even though it was night and there was a quiet feeling in the air, the station was still crowded. The voices of porters(coolie) and auto drivers echoed around.

Akshita picked up her bag and moved forward with her father. Just then, Ramesh ji told her to stand at one place and quickly went to a nearby shop to buy her some chips, water, and other small things.

At that moment, from the other side of the platform, someone was walking fast while speaking on the phone in an irritated voice,

“Where are you?”

“How much longer will you take?”

“Come fast… I’ll freeze in this cold हवा!”

Meanwhile, after waiting for quite some time, Akshita finally started walking ahead quickly, managing her luggage.

For a moment, the sounds of the platform seemed to slow down. And then — their shoulders collided. Akshita’s bag slipped from her hand. Both of them turned around and looked at each other.

Their steps slowed down on their own.

At the same time, the rain started falling harder.

And—

Was it just a simple collision,

or had fate purposely made two paths cross?

The next chapter will be uploaded after you all give your review of this chapter.

Please follow me here. The upcoming chapters will be paid.

Author belle (saku_writes)

Thank you for your time, dear readers. I hope your day is going well.