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Video Attached:Â 'Gulabi Ankhen' by Raghav Sachar. One of my favorites again!
He secretly loved it when his mother scolded him and called him her little kid. He'd always tease her, and this was just another one of those times when he pretended to be upset.
When he arrived in Kamptee last month, it felt like a festival. Everyone had come together to celebrate his success, even his father, Veer Satyajit Singh, the man who rarelyâno, neverâoffered praise, had smiled brighter than ever.
That moment had filled his heart completely because, more than anything, he had always longed to earn his father's smile.
But his mother hadn't been there to welcome him with one of her warm hugs. Instead, he'd learned that she had gone to Nagpur to find the perfect bride for her eldest son.
Of course, his brother was bound to get the ideal wife. Why wouldn't he? As an attorney in one of Mumbai's top law firms, he was the perfect eligible bachelor. Every parent dreamed of having a well-settled son-in-law, and in their world, "well-settled" only meant a fat paycheck and his elder brother surely fit in that mold. So, it wouldn't be hard for his mother to find the perfect Sanskari Bahu.
But what about him?
He couldn't stand it when his relatives praised him for pursuing the UPSC exams because he knew what they really meant. Their congratulations were less about his ambition and more about the expectation that he'd land the "perfect" bride. He despised being part of that marriage market.
His goal was to serve in law and justice, just like his brother. Marriage had never been on his radarâit wasn't something he considered essential. While most middle-class Indian men were expected to marry and settle down, he never saw it as his endgame. No girl had ever captivated him enough to even think about her as a potential wife.
He was busy convincing himself with all these rationalizations when his eyes betrayed him once more, locking onto hers. He groaned inwardly. Why did he want to keep looking at her, again and again... and again? Was it attraction? No.
It wasn't mere infatuation; it felt like something more. He found her endearing in ways he couldn't quite explain.
She wasn't just innocentâshe was smart. The confidence in her eyes said as much. She wasn't just loving but also feistyâthe way she'd scolded her father, who reminded him of a knock-off Viru Sahastrabuddhe, for eating a simple samosa showed that. And she wasn't just beautifulâshe was angelic, her simplicity spoke volumes.
In every way, she was the most captivating girl he'd ever had the privilege of seeing, the kind of girl someone could easily dream about.
Samiksha.
Her name was now etched in his memory. He wanted to say it out loud, to see how it felt rolling off his tongue... to watch her reaction when he called her by name. But instead, he stayed silent.
A stocky man in a plain maroon uniform appeared by his side, standing in the middle of the aisle right in front of them. A pen was tucked behind his right ear, and in his hand was a pink tray stacked with foil-wrapped rectangular dinner boxes. He placed the tray on the blue seats of an empty side berth, pulled out a small notepad, and began distributing the meals to each passenger.
The sight of his fellow passengers receiving their dinners made his stomach growl, reminding him how hungry he was. His eyes flicked to his phoneâ9:36. Only a few minutes left to soak in her presence. After that, if he was lucky, maybe their paths would cross again.
Whatever you are thinking!
With a sigh, he tossed a Center-Fresh gum into his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. Maybe he could fool his stomach for a while, pretend he'd eaten something. His gaze, which had been glued to her, shifted when he noticed something unusual happening nearby.
A girl, likely around his age, was perched on a guy's lapâprobably her husband or boyfriendâand out of nowhere, she began smothering his face with kisses. It was so sudden and unexpected that he blinked, unsure of it to be reality.
His eyes widened, not out of any lustful thoughts but from an unsettling feeling that made him want to leave the compartment immediately.
Here he was, beating himself up for simply admiring a cute girl, and now this scene was making him uncomfortable.
"You've started dreaming about that sweet girl," a voice in his head taunted.
"Shut up!" he muttered to himself.
Frowning, he straightened up, grabbed his trolley bag off the rough blue floor, and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He knelt down to retrieve his shoes from under the lower berth, slipped them on, and rolled his shoulders to relieve the stiffness from the hard sleeper coach cushions.
He grabbed his bag and walked past her, feeling a tug in his heart that almost made him want to turn around, go back to his seat, and gaze at her sweet face one more time. He couldn't quite understand why he felt this way.
His walk was slow, almost as if he hoped her soft voice would call out to him. But that didn't happen. Reaching the doorway, he tossed his bag into the corner, opened the door, and leaned against the cold metal wall, waiting for... well, he wasn't really sure what.
The train's floor vibrated as the tracks zipped beneath it, but now the speed had slowed to a crawl. He saw other tracks weaving through the landscape, faint lights piercing the darkness, and a small red building coming into view.
As the train approached, the building transformed into a bustling station. A large yellow sign with "NAGPUR JN." in bold black letters loomed ahead, marking their arrival.
He gripped his bag and waited for the dirty white marble of the platform to come into view. An uneasy, jittery feeling gnawed at him with every slight shift of the train. Maybe it was her ignoring him, he thought, running a hand through his dark, wavy hair and shaking his head. Perhaps it was just his grumbling stomach, he mused.
"Excuse me," he heard her voice and his eyes flew open in surprise.
There she was, standing right in front of him, real and vivid. Her hands played with the ends of her white dupatta, while her long braids hung loosely from either side of her shoulders. Her left toe tapped impatiently against her slipper.
Her eyes, sparkling like a magical night, were locked onto his, full of expectation. He snapped back to reality, his voice coming out hoarse as he tried to gather his wits. "Ah... Yeah?" He mentally kicked himself for sounding so awkward.
"Umm... Your money," she said, holding out a crisp ten-rupee note between her slender fingers. "For the tea."
He stared at her, first at her face, then her hand, and back to her face. "But... but I don't have any change," he replied with a shrug.
"It's okay. You can consider it a loan and return it when we meet again," she said, echoing his words from earlier that evening. He found himself smiling, though he couldn't quite figure out why it made him so happy.
Whenâno, not ifâhis mind registered her word and he couldn't help but wish it would come true.
Nodding, he reached out for the note. As their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange, his heart raced uncontrollably. He felt a jolt of something unfamiliar, and she pulled back with a soft gasp.
Fuck!
It was surreal. He'd never experienced anything quite like that before.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, and looked at her. "Krishna... M.A. first year from D.U., that is Delhi University... uh, Masters in History," he rambled, the words tumbling out before he could even think them through. He wasn't sure why he felt the urge to share this, maybe because he now knew her name.
As the dark green blur of the tracks gave way to the concrete platform, he peered out the door and saw a whiteboard marking the spot as 'PLATFORM 6'.
"Nice to meet you..."
He heard her say and turned to face her.
She was smiling... and it was one of those rare smiles that made him want to savor it forever. It was so genuine that he felt like he could get lost in it, so captivating that he wished he could be selfish and keep it all to himself, owning it forever.
And then, just like that, their train came to a stop.
How would he manage to survive now...?