Last Stop: Love

5. Mini heart-attack

He wasn't gonna let her die.

That was the thought running through his mind when he rushed along the aisle towards the compartment door, frantically trying to reach her before something happened.

When he couldn't find her there, he didn't know what to do. He tried calling out her name. For a second, he thought he glimpsed a fleeting hint of her dress outside the train. His heart stopped for a moment. He went to the edge of the doorway, straining to peer as far as he could. There was nothing but shrubbery.

He clutched his head in his hands as if trying to hold him together. He was starting to panic. He leaned against the door, his body trembling slightly, and started hyperventilating. The restroom door near him flung open, and Meetha came out.

Her face was damp, hinting that she had washed her face and had not dried it well. She seemed shocked to see him like that.

“Irfan!? Why are you here? Are you okay?”

His face reflected a rollercoaster of emotions, shifting seamlessly from shock to relief to simmering anger.

“What were you thinking? You disappeared without a trace! Do you know how scary that is?”

She flinched at his tone. Seeing her back away, he tried to calm himself down. He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye, and took a few deep breaths.

“You didn't tell me where you're going. One moment you're there, and the next moment you vanish. Imagine my confusion and dread to see you gone.”

Tears streamed down her face. She never thought someone would miss her, let alone a stranger she met on the train. The feeling was overwhelming, but nice. Irfan looked at her distressed visage and sighed in resignation.

“I know you're hurting. You have a lot on your mind. But you promised me your time. You can't back away from that.”

Tears still running down her cheeks, she looked at him solemnly. “His name was Ajith.”

He looked confused for a moment, but quickly caught on. “So when I mentioned the name..”

“I had a sudden emotional surge. I didn't want to cry in front of all those people, so I retreated to the restroom to collect myself.”

“Meetha, I am so so sorry..”

“It is not your fault, is it?”

“Yeah, still.”

“I feel stupid for getting emotional just at the mention of his name. I don't want to be like that.”

“Oh, Meetha..”

Irfan's instincts screamed at him to pull her into a warm embrace, to shield her from her sorrows and whisper words of consolation. He wanted to hold her and never let go.

Meetha wiped her tears with determination. “Ajith is a bloody cheater. Ajith is the scum of the earth. I hate Ajith.”

He could see her forcing herself to tell those things aloud. Pushing herself to get over that trigger. He could understand her pain. Her fists were held so tight that her knuckles turned white. Tears continued streaming down her cheeks. She kept wiping them fiercely. As her gaze turned towards the open door and the empty ground that lay beyond, Irfan surreptitiously took her hand, tugging her away from any dangerous thoughts, and discreetly guided her along the aisle to their seats.

“I would like to remind you of our deal once again. No thinking about those bad memories.”

She nodded and followed him. His hand felt so warm that she was a bit disappointed when their seats arrived soon and he let go of her hand.

When they settled in comfortably, a pantry worker came along selling hot samosas. Irfan was tempted by the savoury aroma and wanted to buy some. Meetha shook her head, conveying her disapproval.

“It's not covered. Uncovered food is a germ magnet. Do not risk it, Irfan.”

He pouted in protest. Meetha found herself wanting to pull his cheeks and pat them fondly. She shifted her eyes and internally chided herself.

“You can get packaged snacks in the next station,” she told him in compromise.

“And those are healthy as hell?” He enquired sarcastically. He was still evidently upset over the samosas.

“No, but they don't give you explosive diarrhoea. They'll kill you in other ways, yes, but only slowly.”

Irfan tried to appear upset and stifle a laugh, but ended up smirking in the cutest way. Meetha once again had to scold herself and control those silly thoughts.

“Irfan, I believe it's your turn now. Tell me about yourself.”

“Hm.. where do I start.. I am the youngest among four children. I have two brothers and a sister, all married and settled. I am academically challenged, meaning I barely scrape by my exams even though my whole family studies with me. My dad owns an agri-vehicles showroom. My mom is a tailor. She also does embroidery and zari works. She's a gifted artist. I think I inherited the artistic genes from her. I liked playing drums from a small age. I wanted to make a career out of it, and my family supported me. They encouraged me to enrol in music school. I graduated with distinction.”

Meetha listened with rapt attention, her eyes shining with interest. She smiled and nodded eagerly for him to continue. Irfan chuckled a little. “I brag too much, don't I?”

“Hey, that's not true. You have an amazing family, and it is only fair to take pride in it. Please continue. And I have to say, you are a great storyteller— you got a real knack for it.”

She saw him blush and smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, leaving a trail of starry sparkle in their wake. The power of his genuine smile was captivating, pulling all her attention towards him with effortless ease. She momentarily forgot her name, and all she could think was Irfan.

All words from him seemed like poetry. She felt like she could listen to him forever and never be tired. She'd never felt this way about anyone before - a deep, unshakeable connection that left her wanting more. She didn't know what to make of that feeling. She was supposed to be heartbroken.

He didn't seem to realise the effect he had on her. He simply smiled, and that made her sway.

Now, she wasn't sure if she wanted to die.

***