The Last Box

People laugh when I tell them I fell in love in twenty-four hours.

Some say it was infatuation.

Others say it was youth.

A few call it madness.

Maybe they’re right.

But seventeen years later, I still remember every minute of that day.

Every word.

Every smile.

Every lie.

Every promise.

Twenty-four hours.

That’s all it took.

Twenty-four hours.

That’s all I got.

The box sat in the corner of my apartment.

The same box I had carried through four cities, three relationships, and two decades.

Written across it were three words.

DO NOT OPEN.

Naturally, I opened it.

Inside were journals.

Photographs.

Train tickets.

And one folded piece of paper.

A train ticket dated July 16, 2009.

The day I met Ananya.

The day my life split into before and after.

Outside my apartment window, rain slid down the glass.

Behind me, Maya slept peacefully.

My fiancée.

The woman I was supposed to marry in six weeks.

The woman who had also changed my life in twenty-four hours.

Sometimes I wonder if fate only knows one way to introduce people.

I picked up the ticket.

And suddenly I was eighteen again.

The train was delayed.

Three hours.

The station was overcrowded.

Everyone was angry.

Including me.

Especially me.

I had missed an entrance exam because of the delay.

My future felt ruined.

I sat alone on a bench staring at the departure board.

Then someone stole my seat.

I turned.

A girl sat beside me.

Not asked.

Not apologized.

Just sat.

She carried a violin case and a backpack covered in travel stickers.

“That’s my seat.”

She looked around.

“No.”

“What?”

“There are no names on benches.”

I blinked.

She returned to reading her book.

I stared.

She looked up.

“Why are you staring?”

That would become a habit between us.

I smiled despite myself.

And for the first time that day, I laughed.

The train finally arrived at noon.

Every seat was occupied.

Except one.

The seat beside hers.

Of course it was.

Fate isn’t subtle.

I sat down.

Four hours later we were still talking.

Eight hours later we were still talking.

Twelve hours later neither of us wanted the journey to end.

Her name was Ananya.

She wanted to become a musician.

She had never seen the ocean.

She hated small talk.

She loved thunderstorms.

She believed every person had two lives:

The one they lived.

And the one they almost lived.

At midnight the train broke down.

A storm flooded the tracks.

Passengers were stranded in a tiny station.

No hotels.

No transportation.

No way out until morning.

Most people complained.

Ananya grinned.

“Best day ever.”

I should have known then.

Ordinary rules did not apply to her.

For the next six hours we wandered through empty streets.

We drank terrible tea.

We watched lightning strike distant hills.

We shared secrets usually reserved for lifelong friends.

And somewhere between midnight and sunrise, something impossible happened.

I fell in love.

Not gradually.

Not cautiously.

Completely.

Ridiculously.

Hopelessly.

Twenty-four hours.

That’s all it took.

At sunrise she stood on the platform beside me.

The replacement train was arriving.

The spell was ending.

“We should exchange numbers,” I said.

She smiled sadly.

“No.”

I laughed.

“What?”

“No numbers.”

“Why?”

“Because if we’re meant to meet again, we will.”

“That’s insane.”

“Probably.”

The train whistle echoed.

Passengers began boarding.

Panic rose inside me.

I realized I might never see her again.

And suddenly that possibility felt unbearable.

The train doors opened.

She stepped backward.

Then she surprised me.

She kissed me.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three.

The world disappeared.

Then she stepped away.

The train began moving.

I ran alongside it.

“ANANYA!”

She leaned out the window.

Smiling.

Crying.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

“GOODBYE, ARJUN!”

The train gathered speed.

And disappeared.

I never imagined that would be the last time I saw her.

Or that seventeen years later I would still be searching for answers.

Because three months after that day, a letter arrived.

And everything changed.

But that story can wait.

Because before I tell you how I lost Ananya…

I need to tell you how I met Maya.

Because seventeen years later, lightning struck twice.

And somehow I fell in love again.

In twenty-four hours.