The Mumbai CST station was doing its usual impression of a pressure cooker — steam,
noise, and people who clearly trained for the Olympics of being late.
And somewhere between platform 7 and 8, Amaya Sharma was sprinting for her life.
"Move, please move! Excuse me! My train's going to leave me like my ex!"
Her backpack bounced, camera dangled, and her oversized pink suitcase decided to
develop its own personality — mostly dramatic and uncooperative.
Just as she leapt onto the platform, the universe (and Mumbai) decided to test her.
Wham!
Her suitcase slammed into a man in a crisp white shirt and charcoal pants. Files, coffee,
and her clothes flew through the air in cinematic slow motion. A pair of pink socks landed
on the man's head.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry!"
"You should be," the man said, blinking through coffee spray. "My presentation now smells
like hazelnut."
Vikram Mehra. Corporate perfection. The type who probably color-codes his toothpaste.
"Who even runs with this much luggage?" he added, trying to peel a post-it note off his
cheek.
"Someone who travels for a living!" Amaya shot back. "You're welcome, I just added
adventure to your PowerPoint."
"I wanted promotion, not trauma."
They both crouched to collect her things. From the open suitcase spilled her travel journal,
camera lenses, a half-eaten pack of chips, and — a tiny wooden box.
"What's this?" Vikram asked, picking it up.
"Souvenir," she said too quickly, snatching it back.
Before he could question more, the loudspeaker blared:
"Train to Pune departing from Platform 8 in two minutes!"
Amaya panicked. Vikram groaned.
"That's mine too!"
"You too?" she blinked.
"Some of us actually have tickets, not chaos passes."
They both rushed toward the same compartment. In the scramble, Amaya tripped on her
duffel strap and half-fell into him. His neatly ironed shirt now bore a clear imprint of her
snack crumbs.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Now I look like a human samosa."
"Could've been worse. I had chutney too," she smirked.
He gave her a look that screamed corporate breakdown in progress.
As the train started moving, Amaya finally exhaled — until she realized her suitcase was
still on the platform.
"My luggage!"
"Of course," Vikram sighed. "Because why would anyone travel with it?"
She darted to the door, but it was too late. The suitcase stood abandoned outside, a
colorful pink dot growing smaller by the second.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the platform, three bumbling men stared at the same
suitcase.
"Boss, this is the box lady's bag, na?"
"Shut up, Pinto. Grab it before someone else does!"
And thus began a journey that would involve a missing suitcase, a mysterious box, and
two people who definitely weren't supposed to share the same train… or heartbeats.