Before the train left

7:42 a.m. Platform 3 was bustling with the usual Monday morning chaos. I stood by the pillar, clutching my coffee cup like an anchor. Behind me, announcements blared, people hurried, life moved swiftly forward.

But I waited.

For him.

A stranger I had met exactly three times—all at this station.

The first time, we stood side by side, both trying to buy tickets from a crowded machine. He looked at me, smiled awkwardly, and said, “It looks like you’re having a bad day.”

I smiled. “The machines reflect more of us than we think.”

We didn’t exchange names. Only tickets. And smiles.

The second time, it was raining. He gave me half of his umbrella. I hesitated, but stepped inside.

“You’re always at this station,” I said.

“So are you,” he replied.

Still, no names. A shared moment under the gentle drizzle.

The third time, we sat on the same bench. I’d forgotten my headphones. He offered one of his. We listened to the same song, nodded to the same rhythm, laughed at the same lyrics.

He still hadn’t told me his name.

Neither had I.

---

It had become a silent dance—a game of chance and choice. Were we brave enough to speak? Or were we mesmerized by the mystery?

Today, I promised myself: If he showed up before the train left, I would talk to him. Really talk to him. Name, number, everything.

But it was now 7:43. There was no sign of him.

My train would be here in two minutes.

I sighed and turned, agreeing to what seemed like the end of a short, strange, beautiful non-story.

Then…

“Hey.”

The voice came from behind. Familiar. Soft.

I spun around, my heart pounding.

There he was. A little out of breath. Hair disheveled. Bag half-open. But he smiled as if I was the reason he ran.

“I thought I missed you,” he said.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” I replied, trying to speak normally, but failing.

He came closer. “I’m late. But I know… if I don’t come today, I’ll never see you again.”

I smiled nervously. “I was thinking the same thing.”

We stood there, legs apart but hearts closer than ever.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“I wrote something,” he said. “I just need to lose my temper.”

I unfolded it. It said,

“If you’re reading this, it means I found you at the right time. My name is Vihan. I travel on this train every Monday and Thursday. I don’t know if you believe in fate. But I think it’s wearing a white scarf and drinking coffee with a lot of sugar.”

I looked up, startled. “Did you notice the sugar?”

He laughed. “Of course. You whined every time you sucked it. But you never changed it.”

I laughed, my heart pounding. “I’m Meera.”

“Hi Meera,” he said softly, as if he had been waiting for my name to be called out for a long time.

At that moment, the train horn blared.

We both turned.

The doors opened. People rushed in.

He looked at me. “Are you coming in?”

I hesitated. This was the moment. The choice.

I could get on - and lose the chance to get to know him for more than three meetings.

Or I could stay.

“I’m in no hurry,” I said. “The next train is in fifteen minutes, isn’t it?”

His face lit up. “Yes. Plenty of time.”

We sat down on the bench again, just like the first day. But this time, we were closer.

This time, finally, we were starting a real story.