The evening at Ernakulam railway station was busy, like it always was, people hustling, vendors shouting their offers, and the distant sound of trains arriving and departing. The air carried a mix of sea salt and the warmth of the setting sun. I had just finished a long day at work, meeting a client in Kochi, and now I was on my way to Bangalore for another official trip. My train was at 8:00 PM, and I had about an hour to spare.
I boarded the train and found my seat by the window. It was a quiet compartment with only a few people. I leaned back in my seat, took a deep breath, and checked my phone. I had a few emails to catch up on, but I decided to wait until the train was moving. Sometimes, I liked to enjoy the journey, especially the peaceful moments before the train started its long trip.
As the train slowly pulled out of the station, I looked out at the passing view. The sun was just setting, casting a warm glow on the city. For a moment, I thought about how much I missed the calm of Kochi - the beaches, and the slower pace of life. Bangalore was always so fast, so crowded, and the thought of returning there didn’t always excite me.
I was lost in my thoughts when I noticed a woman walking down the aisle. She was looking around, clearly searching for a seat. When her eyes landed on me, she smiled politely.
"Is this seat taken?" she asked, her voice soft with a familiar Malayalam accent.
I looked up from my phone, a little surprised, but quickly smiled back. "No, it’s free."
She sat down across from me, her movements graceful, and her simple white dress flowing gently as she settled in. Her long black hair was tied loosely in a bun, and she had the kind of relaxed, natural presence that made her seem at ease wherever she was.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke. The quiet hum of the train and the gentle sound of the tracks filled the air. I looked at her now and then, but she seemed lost in her thoughts, just like I was. There was something about the stillness of the moment that made it feel comfortable, like we both understood the importance of just being in the moment.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“I’m Meera,” she said with a warm smile, her voice soft. "Heading to Bangalore for a work trip. What about you?"
I nodded, a little surprised that she was also going to Bangalore. "I’m from Ernakulam. I’m heading to Bangalore for an official trip too. Business stuff, you know?"
She smiled knowingly. "I know the feeling. The meetings, the deadlines, it never ends."
We both laughed, and the conversation started flowing easily. It felt natural, no awkward silences, just two people sharing a moment of understanding. We began talking about our work, but soon the topics shifted to other things, how we both felt about the busy cities we lived in.
“I grew up in Trivandrum,” Meera said, looking out the window, “but I’ve been living in Bangalore for a few years now. Kerala... it’s different, you know?”
I nodded, completely understanding what she meant. “I know. I love Kerala’s pace. It’s so much slower, more relaxed. There’s something about the beaches and natural that makes everything feel calmer.”
She smiled, her eyes softening a little as she spoke. “Exactly. There’s this rhythm to life in Kerala that I miss sometimes. Bangalore is... it’s great, but it’s always moving too fast.”
“I get that,” I replied, watching the world outside blur by. “I love Bangalore’s energy, but it can get overwhelming.”
We continued chatting, and time seemed to pass quickly. We talked about places we wanted to visit, the food we loved, and how both of us had a special connection to Kerala, despite living in other cities now. I found myself opening up to her more than I expected. It felt easy, like we were old friends who had just reconnected.
As the train sped on, the darkness outside deepened, and the lights inside the compartment flickered on, casting a soft glow over us. I noticed how close we were sitting just a few inches apart, and yet it didn’t feel uncomfortable. There was a quiet, unspoken connection between us, something that made the distance between strangers feel smaller.
For a moment, we sat in silence, just listening to the sound of the train and the occasional click of our shoes on the floor. Then, Meera spoke again, her voice low and thoughtful.
“You know, it’s funny,” she said, glancing at me. “How sometimes, you meet a stranger on a train, and for a little while, it feels like you’ve known them forever.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it does feel like that. Sometimes, the best conversations happen when you’re not expecting them.”
There was a pause, but it wasn’t an awkward one. It was a pause that felt comfortable, like we both understood the fleeting nature of the moment. We were both on this train, traveling to different destinations, yet for a few hours, our paths had crossed.
As the train neared Bangalore, Meera stood up, gathering her things. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine one last time.
“It was really nice talking to you,” she said softly. “Maybe we’ll meet again someday, maybe not. But... this was enough.”
I stood up as well, unsure of what to say. "It was great talking to you too, Meera. Safe travels."
She smiled one last time before walking toward the door. I watched her disappear into the crowd as the train pulled into the station, the lights of Bangalore greeting us in the distance.
I stayed in my seat for a moment longer, reflecting on the conversation. The train had come to a stop, but I wasn’t in a hurry. Sometimes, I thought, the best moments are the ones we don’t try to hold onto. They come, they pass, and leave us with something to remember.
The journey from Ernakulam to Bangalore had been just a few hours long, but in that time, I had met someone, shared something real, and felt a connection that would stay with me long after the train ride ended.
I boarded the train and found my seat by the window. It was a quiet compartment with only a few people. I leaned back in my seat, took a deep breath, and checked my phone. I had a few emails to catch up on, but I decided to wait until the train was moving. Sometimes, I liked to enjoy the journey, especially the peaceful moments before the train started its long trip.
As the train slowly pulled out of the station, I looked out at the passing view. The sun was just setting, casting a warm glow on the city. For a moment, I thought about how much I missed the calm of Kochi - the beaches, and the slower pace of life. Bangalore was always so fast, so crowded, and the thought of returning there didn’t always excite me.
I was lost in my thoughts when I noticed a woman walking down the aisle. She was looking around, clearly searching for a seat. When her eyes landed on me, she smiled politely.
"Is this seat taken?" she asked, her voice soft with a familiar Malayalam accent.
I looked up from my phone, a little surprised, but quickly smiled back. "No, it’s free."
She sat down across from me, her movements graceful, and her simple white dress flowing gently as she settled in. Her long black hair was tied loosely in a bun, and she had the kind of relaxed, natural presence that made her seem at ease wherever she was.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke. The quiet hum of the train and the gentle sound of the tracks filled the air. I looked at her now and then, but she seemed lost in her thoughts, just like I was. There was something about the stillness of the moment that made it feel comfortable, like we both understood the importance of just being in the moment.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“I’m Meera,” she said with a warm smile, her voice soft. "Heading to Bangalore for a work trip. What about you?"
I nodded, a little surprised that she was also going to Bangalore. "I’m from Ernakulam. I’m heading to Bangalore for an official trip too. Business stuff, you know?"
She smiled knowingly. "I know the feeling. The meetings, the deadlines, it never ends."
We both laughed, and the conversation started flowing easily. It felt natural, no awkward silences, just two people sharing a moment of understanding. We began talking about our work, but soon the topics shifted to other things, how we both felt about the busy cities we lived in.
“I grew up in Trivandrum,” Meera said, looking out the window, “but I’ve been living in Bangalore for a few years now. Kerala... it’s different, you know?”
I nodded, completely understanding what she meant. “I know. I love Kerala’s pace. It’s so much slower, more relaxed. There’s something about the beaches and natural that makes everything feel calmer.”
She smiled, her eyes softening a little as she spoke. “Exactly. There’s this rhythm to life in Kerala that I miss sometimes. Bangalore is... it’s great, but it’s always moving too fast.”
“I get that,” I replied, watching the world outside blur by. “I love Bangalore’s energy, but it can get overwhelming.”
We continued chatting, and time seemed to pass quickly. We talked about places we wanted to visit, the food we loved, and how both of us had a special connection to Kerala, despite living in other cities now. I found myself opening up to her more than I expected. It felt easy, like we were old friends who had just reconnected.
As the train sped on, the darkness outside deepened, and the lights inside the compartment flickered on, casting a soft glow over us. I noticed how close we were sitting just a few inches apart, and yet it didn’t feel uncomfortable. There was a quiet, unspoken connection between us, something that made the distance between strangers feel smaller.
For a moment, we sat in silence, just listening to the sound of the train and the occasional click of our shoes on the floor. Then, Meera spoke again, her voice low and thoughtful.
“You know, it’s funny,” she said, glancing at me. “How sometimes, you meet a stranger on a train, and for a little while, it feels like you’ve known them forever.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it does feel like that. Sometimes, the best conversations happen when you’re not expecting them.”
There was a pause, but it wasn’t an awkward one. It was a pause that felt comfortable, like we both understood the fleeting nature of the moment. We were both on this train, traveling to different destinations, yet for a few hours, our paths had crossed.
As the train neared Bangalore, Meera stood up, gathering her things. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine one last time.
“It was really nice talking to you,” she said softly. “Maybe we’ll meet again someday, maybe not. But... this was enough.”
I stood up as well, unsure of what to say. "It was great talking to you too, Meera. Safe travels."
She smiled one last time before walking toward the door. I watched her disappear into the crowd as the train pulled into the station, the lights of Bangalore greeting us in the distance.
I stayed in my seat for a moment longer, reflecting on the conversation. The train had come to a stop, but I wasn’t in a hurry. Sometimes, I thought, the best moments are the ones we don’t try to hold onto. They come, they pass, and leave us with something to remember.
The journey from Ernakulam to Bangalore had been just a few hours long, but in that time, I had met someone, shared something real, and felt a connection that would stay with me long after the train ride ended.
but why
