Aakhirat

Prologue

ये इश्क़ भी बड़ी अजीब चीज़ है,
इसे पाने के लिए मर रहे हैं कई, इससे मिले हुए दफन हैं कहीं।

Kuch khas bat hona jaruri hai, baton ko lamhe banane ke liye. Aur kuch khas lamhon ko jaruri hai, ase shaksh se milne ke liye jo in khas baton ko lamhe bana paye.

Lafz ka itsmal kafi soch samajh kar karna chahiye mere hisab se. Kyuki aksar yai lafz hi hote hai jo sahi samay rehte nahi nikalte toh kayi zindagiyan tabah hoti hai aur galat jagah bina soche samjhe nikal gaye toh, kayi dil tut kar bikhar jate hai...

Wqt...

A lady sitting on a wooden bench at the railway platform, her face half-hidden by a soft, woolen muffler, and her form swathed in a long black coat that swept down to her ankles. The coat, lined with plush fur, hugged her snugly, warding off the biting cold. Her hands, encased in elegant leather gloves, held a small, leather-bound diary. A knitted hat, matching her muffler, perched atop her head, and beneath her coat, a thick, cable-knit sweater and woolen trousers kept her warm. Her feet, snug in fur-lined boots, tapped lightly against the frost-covered platform.

The railway station, steeped in the depths of winter, was a scene from a magical tale. The mist, like a silvery veil, draped over the platform, swirling in delicate tendrils that danced in the frosty air. Icicles hung from the edges of the platform roof, glinting like shards of crystal in the weak, wintry sunlight. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, adding to the thick blanket of snow that muffled the usual hustle and bustle of the station.

As she jotted down words in her diary, the distant, mournful wail of a train siren echoed through the stillness, a signal that the locomotive, which had stood like a silent guardian for the past ten minutes, was preparing to depart. She tapped her boots rhythmically on the platform, the sound mingling with her soft humming of an old, comforting tune.

Her gaze wandered around the mist-enshrouded platform, a sweet smile gracing her lips. Suddenly, her attention was captured by a burst of movement: a woman, her coat billowing and her scarf trailing behind her, dashed toward the now-advancing train, nearly colliding with the bundled-up travelers in her path. Intrigued by the unfolding scene, she wrote down...

Wqt.... Jo shayad ek asi akeli chiz hai jise ham chahke bhi, kisi bhii tarike se kama nahi sakte na hi uska rukh mod sakte hai. Gujar chuke palon ko wapis lana, gujar gaye wqt ki disha badalna utna hi mushkil hai jitna kisi rooh ko uske chute hue sharir se milana ho...

The train began to slowly leave the station, its wheels clanking rhythmically as it picked up speed. The lady sprinted, desperate to catch up with the moving train, clutching her backpack tightly as if it contained something of great importance.

"Ohhh helloooo... excuse me!!! Yu khadi kya hai aap, Aapko hamari pareshani nahi dikh rahi hai!! Help kariye hamarii!! Train chut rahi hai!!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing across the platform and drawing the attention of everyone around.

Passengers paused, their eyes following her frantic dash, as she pushed through the mist, her breath visible in the icy air.

The person sitting on the bench watched the commotion with amusement, a chuckle escaping her lips. She bent over her diary, her pen moving swiftly as she wrote further:

Kitna ajeeb hai na, insan wqt ki kimat karna nahi sikhta hai. Aur phir wqt ke na rukne pai shikayat bhi ussise karta hai ki wo unke liye thehra kyu nahi?

Jahir si bat hai wqt se jawab milna toh mushkil hai, isiliye phir wahi insan uss wqt mai mile hue dusre insano ki taraf apne gunah mod deta hai isse pehele koi unhe gunehar sabit karde...

The lady standing near the door of the moving coach heard the desperate voice and turned, gripping the railing of the coach's entrance tightly. She raised an eyebrow at the sight, puzzled by the urgency in the woman's call. Did she know her?

Despite her initial confusion, her instincts kicked in. Her left hand extended towards the running woman, while her right one held firmly onto the rail. She whispered urgently, "Hold it!"

The running lady pushed herself to the limit, exhaling sharply as she made one final, desperate leap. Her fingers brushed against the outstretched hand and then clasped it tightly. The woman on the coach pulled with all her might, and with a final, frantic effort, the running lady was hauled aboard, nearly stumbling over her savior in the process.

Breathless and disoriented, the lady who had just sprinted for her life found herself standing unnervingly close to the other. She was panting heavily, unaware of the proximity. The woman who had extended her hand remained still, her grip firm, her gaze locked onto the deep brown eyes before her. Those eyes, rich and warm like melted chocolate, seemed to draw her in, shimmering with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She felt the warm breaths against her neck, heard the faint rhythm of the heartbeat just inches away, and in those captivating eyes, she saw a depth of emotion that resonated with her own unspoken feelings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the world outside the coach fading away into the winter mist.

Iss kahani mai isi wqt ka khel hai, isi wqt ke sath na chalne pai lage gaye gunah ka hisab hai, aur issi lafzon ke khel mai ek asi kahani hai, do ase kirdar hai. Jinka wajud sirf iss duniya se nahi balki ham jiss duniya se anjan hai uss duniya tak hone wala hai, ek asi kahani jo shuru hamari ankhon ke samne hue hai, lekin khatam...

... Aakhirat mai hone wali hai.

"Agar ab aur koi madad nahi chahiye aapko, toh can you please let go of my hand?" the lady asked, her voice gentle but firm.

The other woman, now able to breathe normally, suddenly became aware of the intimacy of the moment. She released the lady's hand, stepping back slightly as she said, "Oh... sorry. And thank you for the help." With a nod, she turned and walked into the railway cabin.

The first woman remained standing at the coach's entrance, watching as the other faded into the distance. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. She pondered what had compelled her to assist a stranger in such an unexpected way, as helping others was not something she usually did.

The person finished the prologue of her new story, her pen lingering over the final words. With a satisfied smile, she signed her name at the bottom right of the page before closing her diary.

-Mahi.

Rising from the bench, she looked towards the departing train, its silhouette fading into the winter mist, and felt a sense of accomplishment wash over her. She stood at the platform, her heart still lingering in the scene she had just crafted.