The railway platform had a memory of its own.
It remembered footsteps that never returned, promises whispered too softly, and goodbyes that were never meant to be final. Aarav stood there again after many years, unaware that the place had been waiting for him as much as he had been waiting for something unnamed.
The evening light spilled across the tracks like melted gold. The air smelled of iron, dust, and chai leaves boiling somewhere nearby. People rushed past him—lives moving forward—but Aarav remained still, caught between then and now.
This was where it began.
And where it would begin again.