The Train We Never Took

The station smelled of wet concrete and nostalgia. The rain drizzled softly outside, its rhythm matching the erratic beat of my heart. I stood near the edge of the platform, hands in my pockets, watching the trains come and go.

I had told myself I wouldn’t come back here. That it was foolish to hold on to a memory from so long ago.

But here I was. And here she was.

Aarohi.

She stood a few feet away, her dark hair damp from the rain, her coat clutched tightly around her. Her eyes, still the same deep brown, locked onto mine. For a moment, the years dissolved, and we were twenty-two again, standing on this very platform, waiting for a train we never took.

I swallowed hard. "Aarohi."

She blinked as if unsure I was real. Then, with a hesitant smile, she whispered, "Arav."

Her voice still carried the same softness, the same warmth that had once felt like home.

"You came back," she said, more of a statement than a question.

"I did," I admitted. "But I don’t know why."

She let out a small breath, her lips parting as if to say something, but then she hesitated. I knew that hesitation. It was the same one she had worn on her face that night—the night I had waited for her, but she never arrived.

"Why didn’t you come that day?" I finally asked.

Aarohi looked away, biting her lip. "You still remember that?"

"How could I forget?" I let out a dry chuckle. "I waited for hours. I watched every train leave, hoping you’d suddenly appear. But you never did."

She exhaled, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "I wanted to, Arav. More than anything."

"Then why didn’t you?"

She looked back at me, her eyes clouded with something unreadable. "Because I was afraid."

I frowned. "Afraid of what?"

A sad smile touched her lips. "Afraid of choosing wrong. Afraid of leaving behind the life I knew. Afraid that maybe… you and I were just a beautiful idea, but not meant to be real."

Her words stung more than I expected. I had spent years wondering what went wrong, replaying that night in my head, searching for answers I never got.

And now, standing in front of her, I finally had them.

"You should’ve told me," I said, my voice quieter now.

"I know," she whispered. "I should have. But I thought… if I didn’t show up, you would move on. That maybe it would be easier for both of us."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Easier? Aarohi, you were my future. You were everything I wanted."

Her eyes glistened with something unsaid. "And now?"

I hesitated. What was she asking? Did she expect me to say I had moved on? That I was okay?

Because the truth was—I wasn’t sure.

I had built a life without her. I had forced myself to forget, to stop waiting for the sound of her voice in the middle of a crowded street. But seeing her now, in the exact place where everything fell apart, made me question if I had ever truly let her go.

The announcement board flickered above us, displaying train schedules. A train was arriving soon.

I looked at her, really looked at her, and I saw it—regret, longing, love buried beneath time.

"Are you leaving?" I asked, nodding toward her bag.

She sighed. "I don’t know. I came here without a plan."

"Just like last time," I murmured.

She smiled faintly. "Just like last time."

Another announcement echoed through the station. The train was arriving.

I took a deep breath. "If I ask you to stay this time… would you?"

Aarohi stared at me, the weight of the past hanging between us.

For a moment, I thought she would say no. That history was about to repeat itself.

But then—

She reached for my hand.

"Ask me again," she whispered.

I laced my fingers through hers, holding on like I should have years ago.

"Stay, Aarohi."

She smiled, and for the first time in years, I felt the weight lift from my heart.

Some love stories end before they begin.

Ours was finally getting a second chance.