The Train We Never Took

Every town has a story it keeps repeating to itself.

In Kiran’s town, it was the story of the 5 o’clock train—a story about youth, promises, and the love that almost was.

She wasn’t waiting for anyone. Not anymore.

But every evening at 5 PM, she stood on that platform, watching the train pull away.

Years ago, she had nearly been on it.

She still remembered the exact words:

“Let’s run away. Just you and me.”

Rehan had said it with eyes full of hope and a heart full of rebellion. They were just seventeen—too young to know the cost of wild dreams, too old to ignore them.

They had grown up in the same narrow lane where laundry hung between houses and cricket balls broke windows more than once a week. She was quiet, bookish, always tucked behind her mother’s shadow. He was loud, curious, a spark that refused to go unnoticed.

Nobody expected them to fall in love.

They didn’t expect it either.

But life doesn’t wait for permission.

**

The plan was simple.

Pack a bag.

Meet at the station.

Catch the 5 o’clock train.

It would take them to another city, far from their families, their fears, their futures.

They had saved up money in a jar hidden beneath an old tree.

The night before, she had written her mother a letter. Apologizing. Explaining.

But when she woke up the next morning, something felt different.

The weight of her father’s silence at breakfast. The tear in her mother’s eye as she folded laundry. The scent of chai steeped in familiarity.

Her world was not perfect, but it was hers.

And she couldn’t leave it behind.

**

At 5 PM, Rehan stood at the station.

Bag in hand. Eyes scanning the crowd.

But Kiran never came.

He waited till the train whistled its final call.

Then he got on without her.

She never saw him again.

Rumors said he found work in the city. Some said he became a photographer. Others said he changed his name.

She didn’t know which version to believe.

So she created her own.

In her mind, he was still seventeen—waiting, dreaming, forgiving.

**

Years passed.

Kiran stayed.

She became a teacher, wore glasses now, and kept her hair tied back in a loose braid.

But she never stopped going to the station at 5 PM.

She told herself it was a habit.

Some days she brought books to read. Other days, she simply watched the world pass by—the lovers meeting, the families reuniting, the tired workers heading home.

And in all of them, she searched for a glimpse of him.

**

One winter evening, something changed.

She was early, bundled in a brown coat, sipping hot tea from a paper cup.

A boy about seventeen stood nearby, nervous and fidgeting.

She noticed the way he looked down the tracks, checking his watch repeatedly.

Finally, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Yeah. I’m here… No, don’t be scared. I’ll wait till you get here. Even if you don’t come, I’ll still get on.”

Kiran smiled quietly.

History was repeating. As it always did.

But this time, she wasn’t the one frozen by fear.

As the train pulled in, the boy looked up at her.

“Ma’am, could you watch my bag for a minute?” he asked.

She nodded.

Minutes later, a girl came running, breathless.

He took her hand.

And they got on the train—laughing, crying, brave.

**

Kiran stood at the platform, watching it leave.

For the first time in years, she didn’t feel the weight of regret.

She felt peace.

The story of the 5 o’clock train had always been about loss.

But now, it was about something else.

Hope.

She turned away from the tracks and walked home.

Maybe tomorrow, she’d take a train somewhere. Anywhere.

Not to chase the past.

But to meet the future.

Wherever it might be.