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The train that never stops..
Genre: Ephemeral Romance
Disclaimer:
Dear readers,
If your heart has never fluttered at a stolen glance, if the phrase "meant to be" makes you roll your eyes so hard they threaten to get stuck, and if you believe love stories are just elaborate hallucinations caused by oxytocin—this tale may baffle you.
You are about to encounter feelings... the kind that defy logic, spreadsheets, and basic self-preservation instincts. The protagonists here will not act rationally (because love, much like tequila, impairs judgment). They may forget to exchange phone numbers, prioritize chemistry over common sense, and generally behave as if the universe owes them a happy ending.
This is not a drill. This is romance.
If you prefer stories where people communicate like adults, avoid grand gestures, and never get derailed by destiny’s whims, I would suggest reading something more pragmatic.
For the rest of you hopeless (or hapless) dreamers: proceed. But remember, realism is not love's language.
— Vakharia
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The scene of Mumbai Central Station at the time of dusk The platform is alive with the shouts of the vendors, "Chai! Garam chai!" and "Vadapav le lo!". The air is thick with the scent of spices, cigarette smoke, and the faint smell of stale vadas being re-fried for the upcoming train. The train, bound for Jaipur, stands like a serpent. Passengers jostle for space, setting up their luggage, their voices blending into a cacophony of anticipation.
Ananya, a spirited artist in her late twenties, stepped onto the train. She wore a flowing turquoise kurta, her dupatta shimmering like the ocean under the station lights. Her sketchpad was tucked under her arm, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. She found her seat in the second-class sleeper compartment, where a man sat by the window, lost in thought. His dark eyes were fixed on a notebook, his pen moving furiously across the page. This was Shaunak, a brooding writer in his early thirties, his unkempt hair and stubble giving him an air of quiet intensity
Ananya pauses, her gaze lingering on Shaunak. There’s something about him—the way his brow furrows as he writes, the way his fingers grip the pen as if it’s the only thing anchoring him to the world. She takes a deep breath and approaches him.
Ananya smiled warmly and said "Is this seat taken? Or can I share your world for a while?"
Shaunak looks up, startled, as if pulled from a dream. His eyes meet hers, and for a moment, the noise of the station fades into silence. He notices the way her dupatta catches the light, the way her smile seems to hold a thousand stories.
Shaunak: (softly, almost to himself) "My world is a little messy. But you’re welcome to it."
Ananya sits down across from him, her sketchpad resting on her lap. She glances at his notebook, filled with scribbled lines of poetry and half-formed thoughts.
Ananya: (teasing) "A writer? Or just someone who likes to talk to paper?"
Shaunak chuckles, a low, warm sound that surprises even him. He closes his notebook, but not before she catches a glimpse of a line: "Safar yeh zindagi ka, par manzil ka pata nahin..."
Faintly smiling Shaunak said "A little of both, I suppose. And you? You look like someone who carries colors in her soul..!!"
Ananya’s eyes widen, and she laughs, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. She holds up her sketchpad, flipping through pages filled with vibrant sketches of people, places, and emotions.
Ananya: "Guilty as charged. I paint what I feel. And right now, I feel like this journey might be worth capturing."
Shaunak leans forward, intrigued. He notices the way her hands move as she speaks, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her art.
Shaunak: "What do you see when you look at me?"
Ananya tilts her head, studying him with an artist’s eye. She picks up her pencil and begins to sketch, her movements quick and confident.
Ananya: "I see someone who’s searching for something. Someone who writes not because he wants to, but because he has to. Correct me, if I am wrong."
Shaunak is silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her. Then he smiles, a real, genuine smile that transforms his face.
Shaunak: "You’re not wrong. But I think you’re seeing more than just me. You’re seeing yourself."
Ananya pauses, her pencil hovering over the paper. She looks at him, her expression softening.
Ananya: "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just seeing, what I want to see."
The train jerks to life, the whistle blowing loudly as it begins to move. The compartment sways gently, and Ananya’s dupatta slips from her shoulder. Shaunak reaches out instinctively to catch it, their fingers brushing for a brief, electric moment.
Shaunak softly said "Careful. You wouldn’t want to lose this."
Ananya takes the dupatta from him, her cheeks flushing. She wraps it around her shoulders, the fabric carrying the faint scent of jasmine.
Ananya: "Thank you. For catching me."
Shaunak leans back, his eyes never leaving hers.
Shaunak: "Something tells me, you’re not the kind of person, who gets caught easily."
Ananya laughs again, the sound mingling with the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks. Outside, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The journey has begun, and so has something
Shaunak smiles faintly, his fingers tracing the edge of his notebook. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls out a small, worn-out book of Urdu poetry. The pages are dog-eared, the cover faded with time.
Shaunak: "There’s a verse I’ve been carrying with me for years. It feels... right, for tonight."
He opens the book to a marked page and begins to read, his voice low and melodic, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.
Shaunak starts reciting "Tamanna hai ki tujhse milun , par darr lagta hai... Kahin teri yaadon mein kho na jaun, aur laut ke phir vaapis na aaun..."
Ananya’s eyes fill with tears, the words resonating deep within her. She looks at him, her heart aching with a strange, beautiful pain.
Ananya: (whispering) "That’s... beautiful. Did you write it?"
Shaunak shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the passing fields.
Shaunak: "No. It’s by a poet who understood what it means to love something you can’t hold onto. But tonight... it’s how I feel."
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The train shifts gently from side to side, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on Shaunak’s face. Ananya picks up her sketchpad, her fingers moving quickly as she begins to draw. Shaunak watches her, his heart pounding as he realizes she’s sketching him.
Shaunak said teasingly "Do I really look that brooding?"
Ananya grinned and said "You have a very... poetic face. It’s hard to resist."
Shaunak laughs, a low, warm sound that makes her heart skip a beat. She captures the curve of his smile, the way the moonlight highlights the angles of his face.
Shaunak: "What do you see when you look at me?"
Ananya pauses, her pencil hovering over the paper. She looks at him, her expression serious.
Ananya: "I see someone who’s been hurt. Someone who’s afraid to hope. But I also see... light. Like the moon breaking through the clouds."
Shaunak’s breath catches, her words piercing through the walls he’s built around himself. He reaches out, his hand covering hers.
Shaunak: "You see way too much."
Ananya said softly "Or maybe you’ve just been waiting for someone to see you."
They sit in silence, the rhythm of the train matching the beat of their hearts. The wind carries the sound of distant laughter and the faint strains of a Bollywood song playing somewhere on the train. For a moment, the world feels perfect.
As the night deepens, the train passes through a small village. The lights from the houses flicker like fireflies, casting a warm glow on their faces. Ananya sets her sketchpad aside, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
Ananya: "I’ve always been afraid of endings. That’s why I never finish my paintings. I leave them... incomplete, so they can live forever in my mind."
Shaunak looks at her, his heart aching at the sadness in her voice.
Shaunak: "But isn’t it the endings that make the journey beautiful?"
Shaking her head Ananya said "Not if the ending means losing something you love."
Shaunak reaches for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. The touch is warm, grounding.
Shaunak: "Maybe we don’t have to think about endings. Maybe we just have to be here, in this moment. Together."
Ananya looks at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.
Ananya: "What if this moment is all we have?"
Shaunak leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shaunak: "Then we’ll make it enough."
Their faces are inches apart, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions. For a moment, it feels like the world has stopped, like the train itself is holding its breath. And then, slowly, Shaunak closes the distance, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that feels like a promise—a promise of something real, something lasting.
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When they pull away, the world rushes back in—the sound of the train, the wind, the distant hum of life. Ananya rests her head on his shoulder, her heart pounding. Shaunak wraps an arm around her, pulling her close.
Ananya whispers "I don’t want this to end."
Shaunak: "Neither do I."
They sit in silence, the moonlight bathing them in its glow. For now, in this moment, they have each other. And that’s enough.
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The Jaipur railway station at dawn. The platform is alive with the sounds of chai vendors calling out, "Garam chai! Kachaudi le lo..!" and the chatter of passengers preparing for their journeys. The sun rises slowly, casting a golden glow over the station, painting the scene in warm hues. Ananya and Shaunak stand facing each other, their time together slipping away like sand through their fingers.
Ananya clutches her sketchpad to her chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Shaunak stands before her, his notebook tucked under his arm, his expression a mixture of longing and regret. The train whistle blows in the distance, a harsh reminder that their journey together is ending.
Ananya trembled as she said "This doesn’t have to be the end. We could meet again. Same day, next year. Right here."
Shaunak’s heart aches at the hope in her voice. He steps closer, his hands reaching for hers. Her fingers are cold, and he holds them tightly, as if he can anchor her to this moment.
Shaunak: "I’ll be here. I promise. No matter where I am, no matter what happens, I’ll find my way back to you."
Ananya looks up at him, her tears spilling over. She smiles through them, her heart breaking and healing all at once.
Ananya: "Then it’s a promise. Don’t forget me."
Shaunak’s throat tightens. He reaches up, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His touch is gentle, almost reverent.
Shaunak whispers "How could I? You’re the story I’ve been waiting to write."
Ananya’s breath catches at his words. She leans into his touch, her heart pounding. The world around them fades—the noise of the station, the rush of passengers, the distant hum of the city. For a moment, it’s just the two of them, standing on the edge of something beautiful and terrifying.
Shaunak pulls her into his arms, holding her as if he can shield her from the pain of their separation. Ananya clings to him, her face buried in his chest, breathing in the scent of him.. ink, paper, and something uniquely Shaunak. The warmth of his embrace imprints on her memory, a moment she knows she’ll carry with her forever.
Ananya muffled against his chest and said "I don’t want to let go."
With a breaking voice, Shaunak replied "Neither do I. But we have to. For now."
They stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world rushing past them. The train whistle blows again, louder this time, and they know their time is up. Reluctantly, they pull apart, their hands lingering for a moment before finally separating.
They share one last, lingering look—a look filled with all the words they didn’t say, all the emotions they couldn’t express. And then, the crowd swallows them. Ananya is swept away by a group of passengers boarding a train, while Shaunak is pulled in the opposite direction by the flow of people.
In their rush to part, they forget to exchange numbers or addresses. They didn't even think of it, their minds too full of the promise they’ve made. But as they disappear into the crowd, a sinking feeling settles in their hearts—a fear that this might be the last time they see each other.
Sounds foolish but they did not forget to exchange numbers because they were careless. They forgot because, in that fleeting yet profound connection, the idea of separation felt impossible. Love, in its purest rush, convinces the heart that destiny will intervene—that if something is meant to be, the universe will conspire to make it happen. Who needs phone numbers when you’ve already promised the stars?
To an outsider, it seems foolish. But love is not an outsider. It thrives on hope, not guarantees; on feeling, not spreadsheets. It makes people believe in miracles—like finding each other again in a vast world, simply because they must.
Perhaps it’s unrealistic. But realism has never been love’s language.
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Ananya boards her train, her heart heavy. She finds a seat by the window, her sketchpad resting on her lap. She opens it to the page where she’d drawn Shaunak, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. Outside, the station blurs as the train begins to move.
Ananya: (whispering to herself) "Meri rooh ka hissa ho tum"
On the platform, Shaunak stands frozen, watching her train pull away. He clutches his notebook to his chest, his heart aching with a pain he can’t describe. He opens it to the page where he’d written about her, his fingers brushing the words: "Tum aayi, aur zindagi ne jaise rang pakda..."
The station empties around him, the sounds of the morning growing louder. But Shaunak feels only silence, a void where Ananya had been. He turns and walks away, his steps heavy, his mind already counting the days until they meet again.
As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, Ananya and Shaunak carry the memory of that morning with them. Ananya paints, her canvases filled with images of a man she barely knows but feels she’s always known. Shaunak writes, his notebooks overflowing with stories about a woman who changed his life in a single night.
They both mark the date in their calendars—a year from today. A promise made under the golden light of dawn. A promise they both intend to keep.
But as the days pass, life gets in the way. Ananya’s art takes her to new cities, new exhibitions. Shaunak’s writing gains recognition, pulling him into a world of deadlines and interviews. They both think of each other often, but the memory begins to fade, like a dream slipping through their fingers.
And yet, deep down, they both hold onto the hope that one day, they’ll meet again. On a train. At a station. Under the same golden light.
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Years passed, and Ananya, now in her mid-thirties, found herself on another train, this time bound for Udaipur. The golden light of late afternoon streams through the glass, casting a warm glow over her face. She stares out at the passing fields, her sketchpad resting on her lap. Her eyes, once bright with curiosity, now carry the weight of years spent wondering what might have been. The train moves with a gentle rhythm, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks creating a soothing backdrop.
Suddenly, another train speeds past on the parallel track, its windows a blur of faces and colors. Ananya’s gaze drifts absently to the passing train, and then—she sees him. Shaunak. He’s older too, his hair streaked with gray, but his eyes are the same—dark, intense, and filled with a quiet longing. He’s looking out the window, his face illuminated by the golden light, and for a moment, their eyes meet and it seemed like the entire universe froze for a moment.
Ananya’s breath catches in her throat. Her heart pounds, a rush of emotions flooding her—joy, disbelief, and an aching sadness. She presses her hand against the glass, her fingers trembling.
Ananya whispers with a breaking voice "Shaunak..."
On the other train, Shaunak’s eyes widen in recognition. He leans closer to the window, his hand reaching out as if to touch her through the barrier between them. His lips form her name, but no sound comes out.
Shaunak flickers his lips "Ananya..."
The trains are moving too fast, the moment slipping away in a fraction of second. Ananya’s heart races as she tries to memorize his face—the lines that time has etched, the way his eyes still hold the same quiet intensity. She wants to scream, to stop the train, to run to him. But she can’t. All she can do is watch as he disappears.
The other train speeds ahead, its windows a blur of light and shadow. Ananya sits frozen, her hand still pressed against the glass. Tears stream down her face, her chest heaving with silent sobs. She whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the sound of the train.
Ananya said to herself, tears streaming down her face "Main tumhen kabhi bhooli nahi Shaunak... bas tumhe yaad karna chhod diya..!!"
She closes her eyes, her mind flooded with memories—the night on the train, the moonlight on his face, the promise they made. She feels the weight of all the years she’s spent wondering, waiting, hoping. And now, just like that, he’s gone again.
On the other train, Shaunak sits back, his face pale. His heart pounds, his mind reeling from the brief glimpse of her. He whispers her name, his voice trembling.
Shaunak sotly said to himself "Ananya..."
He closes his eyes, his hands clenched into fists. The memory of her face—older, but still so beautiful—haunts him. He thinks of the promise they made, the day he waited at the Jaipur station, hoping she would come. But she never did. And now, seeing her again, even for a moment, feels like a cruel twist of fate.
Shaunak: "Tum aayi, aur phir chali gayi... Jaise ek sapna."
He looks out the window, the fields rushing past in a blur. The golden light of the afternoon fades into dusk, and he feels the weight of all the years he’s spent searching for her in his words, in his stories, in the faces of strangers.
The trains continue on their separate paths, carrying them further and further apart. Ananya’s train curves to the left, heading toward Udaipur, while Shaunak’s train speeds straight ahead, bound for an unknown destination. The distance between them grows, the tracks diverging like the paths of their lives.
Ananya opens her sketchpad, her fingers trembling as she flips through the pages. She stops at a sketch of Shaunak—the one she drew on that first night, his face illuminated by the moonlight. She traces the lines of his face, her tears falling onto the paper.
On the other train, Shaunak opens his notebook, his finge
Positives: "Train That Never Stops" is a story written in a passionate and poetic way. The uses of words were beautiful. It has a great flow in its structure. The emotional imagery was spot on.
Negatives: It should have explained in better way what stands between their love and how they achieve it. Which will have made it greater story.
Overall baar baar Padhne jaisi kahani hai. Kuch jagah chuk gayi. Baaki puchna hai itne poetic andaj se likh kaise lete ho.
Negatives: It should have explained in better way what stands between their love and how they achieve it. Which will have made it greater story.
Overall baar baar Padhne jaisi kahani hai. Kuch jagah chuk gayi. Baaki puchna hai itne poetic andaj se likh kaise lete ho.
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