The Waves Whisper ✓

25 | deepest trenches of the sea

20
𓂃𓊝𓂃

It was a cold December evening. The sun was setting behind the roof of the railway station, and the cold air began to cascade down the platforms. The railway station was packed with people boarding the trains, people receiving and bidding goodbye to their friends and families, workers carrying the travellers' bags, and people selling tea and samosas to the passengers inside the train. The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted in the air. I made my way to the platform where Apoorva's train would arrive, trying not to bump into people passing by. I took a seat on a bench and placed my bag next to me. Around me, people of different ages and backgrounds indulged in different activities. I sat there eagerly waiting for Apoorva's train to arrive. As the needle of the clock was nearing 5, an announcement was made in a sweet female voice.

"Your attention, please. Train No. 12739 Cochin-Bombay, Lokamanya Express, is running late by 2 hours."

I sighed. But two hours were much shorter compared to the 151 days without him. Two more announcements were made in Marathi and English, followed by the previous announcement in Hindi.
The people waiting to receive the passengers let out a collective, exasperated noise. A few trains came and went. I sat there looking into the crowd, watching people board and leave the trains-people with different lives, stories, sorrows, and dreams. There were hundreds of people with hundreds of stories that I knew nothing of. My eyes grew weary of watching them. My head felt heavy, and my eyelids drooped. My eyes couldn't bear the strength of the piercing lights on the platform. The world in front of me faded into thin air like a dream. The noise around me became nothing but a mere buzz of bees. I was slipping into the arms of sleep, and it wrapped me in a soft blanket of coziness. I could still hear the chai wala's loud voice and smell the aroma of spicy samosas wafting in the air.

...

A distant rumble of train reached my ears followed by the screeching of breaks, noise of people getting off the train, banging of metal trunks against each other. The cold air was piercing its sharp needles into my skin.

Someone is calling my name.

My own name sounds unfamiliar to me.

"Roopali ji?"

He is trying to wake me up.

His touch is alien to my skin.

I adjusted my eyes to the light. Everything was a blur. A man stood in front of me.

It's not Apoorva.

I do not recognize him at all.

"Roopali ji?" He asked again.

The railway station came to life again. People were talking, and their voices were too loud for my ears.

"Are you Roopali Agarwal? I've only seen you in a photograph." The man said.

"Yes." My voice came out as a whisper. I stood up. My bag was where I kept it. The clock on the railway platform showed 7:30 p.m. And the only thing I could think about was, 'Where is Apoorva?'

"Photograph? What photograph?" I asked him.

I saw the blood drain from his face. He was silent. As if I had asked him to reveal a secret that would cost him his life.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

"I am Sub-lieutenant Chetan. I-I work with Apoorvananth Rathore."

"Oh. Where is he? He said he'd be here at 5."

His face was expressionless.

"Did he send you to pick me?"

"No." Chetan's voice trembled. A bad feeling rose from the bottom of my heart.