Day 7
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It was a normal Monday, filled with the usual routine. By 10:00 PM, John was in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes while Arya sat nearby, mesmerized by YouTube Shorts on John’s phone. "Arya! Time for bed," John announced.
Arya reluctantly set the phone aside and headed to the washroom. Following her new nightly ritual, she applied a generous amount of aloe vera gel to her face, making sure her skin stayed "glowy," and tucked herself into bed. By 10:45 PM, the kitchen was spotless. John checked on Arya and found her in a deep, peaceful sleep.
He sat out on the kitchen balcony, leaning against the washing machine to catch the night breeze. He checked his phone and saw a notification from Google Photos:
"7 Years Ago Today..."
He clicked on it and saw a series of photos of himself with a girl who, at the time, had been a complete stranger named Anvi. He saw that Anvi was currently online, so he shared the photos with her. Almost immediately, he dialed her number.
"Check your messages," he said as soon as she picked up.
Anvi downloaded the files and gasped. "Hey! You still have these photos?"
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John—or rather, Virat—grinned. "Of course! I actually forgot to send the one of us on the terrace. Should I? I was thinking of making it my phone wallpaper."
Anvi’s voice went up an octave, clearly blushing. "No! Hey, pleaseeee, don't you dare do that!"
Virat laughed. "I won't, don't worry. Your train is tomorrow, right?"
Anvi took a heavy, tired breath. "Yeah, around 10:45 PM." She let out a yawn. "Okay, I'm exhausted. Good night."
"Good night," Virat replied and ended the call.
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Flashback: Average Problems in a Sleeper Coach
Seven years ago, at Howrah Junction, the clock struck 1:20 PM. Virat, then twenty-five, stood on the platform with his military friend, Arnav, waiting for the Gitanjali Express. As the train roared into the station, Virat boarded coach S4.
He turned to his friend. "Arnav, be careful. Take care of yourself, and let me know if you run into any trouble."
Arnav nodded firmly. "Your training will stay with me. You take care, too."
The train began to pull away. Virat checked his phone to confirm his seat details: RAC 12, S4, Seat 23 (Lower).
He moved slowly through the crowded aisle, lugging a travel bag and a heavy duffle. When he reached his section, he found a young girl, around thirteen or fourteen years old, sitting in his spot.
"Excuse me, dear," he asked politely. "Is this your seat?"
She looked up at him. "Mine is 24, actually. But can I sit here at 23? You can take seat 24."
Virat shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He stowed his bags and sat down in seat 24.
The girl pointed toward her mother, who was sitting a few berths away. "My family is over there in seats 25, 26, 27, 29, and 30."
Virat raised an eyebrow. "What to say. The system gave them every seat but 28? Stupid system."
The girl smiled at his bluntness. "You are very sweet. What's your name?"
"I’m Virat. And yours?"
"Ashraa," she replied, offering a hand for a handshake.
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The two sat together, watching the world blur past the window grills. By 3:20 PM, the train reached Kharagpur. Virat was engrossed in a movie on his phone while Ashraa was busy coloring in a notebook. Suddenly, a woman around twenty-three years old marched up to their section with a bold look on her face.
"Excuse me, sir," she said firmly. "My seat. S4, Seat 24."
Virat looked up. "Mine is also 24."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "How can that be, sir?" She paused for a dramatic second, then scanned the aisle. "TC! Ticket collectooooor!"
A stout Ticket Collector approached, wiping sweat from his brow. In heavily accented, broken English, he asked, "What... problem?"
The girl thrust her ticket toward him. "This is my seat, S4/24. How can this guy claim it's his?"
The TC adjusted his glasses, looked at her ticket, and then looked at her. "Madam," he said, pointing to the fine print. "Yours is S3/24. This is coach S4."
Virat bit his lip, trying his absolute best to suppress a laugh, but Ashraa couldn't help herself—she burst out giggling.
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It was a "complete red" moment for the girl. Her face flushed a deep crimson as she silently gathered her luggage and vanished toward the next coach without a word.
Around 4:00 PM, she reappeared in their coach, looking much humbler. Ashraa playfully called out, "Aunty, this isn't S3!"
The girl took a deep breath, avoiding Virat's eyes. "An old couple was sitting in my seat in S3. They offered me one of their spare seats here instead. S4, Seat 22."
Virat smiled, gesturing to the space. "Sit! You’re free to keep your trolley bag here; there’s plenty of room."
She sighed in relief and slid her bag under the seat. "Thank you."
Virat leaned back, a teasing glint in his eye. "You’re very innocent. It’s too easy to fool you. What’s your name?"
She looked slightly annoyed but answered anyway. "Anvi. And for the record, no one can fool me."
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To be continued...
Chapter 17: Awkward Talks and a Handshake20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw96CFQ1oAH
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