Chapter 1
It was raining the evening Arjun missed his train.
The platform at Howrah Station was almost empty, the loudspeaker echoing announcements through the damp air. Arjun stood under the flickering light, suitcase by his side, watching the last train to Delhi disappear into the darkness.
He sighed. Maybe it was fate.
He had just quit his job in Kolkata after a painful breakup and decided to start fresh in another city. But now, with no train and no plan, he felt stuck—between past and future.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
He looked up.
A girl stood there, holding a sketchbook against her chest, rain droplets shining in her hair. Her eyes were curious, soft, and a little amused.
"No," Arjun said quickly, moving his bag. "It's free."
She sat down, flipping open her sketchbook. Arjun tried not to stare, but he noticed she was drawing the empty tracks.
"You draw trains?" he asked.
"I draw moments," she replied without looking up. "Trains just happen to carry them."
Her name was Meera.
They talked because there was nothing else to do. The next train wasn't until morning. They shared stories about missed chances, wrong turns, and dreams they were afraid to chase.
Meera wanted to open her own art studio someday but was stuck working in her uncle's stationery shop. Arjun admitted he had been engaged once but couldn't force himself to marry someone he didn't truly love.
"Do you believe in timing?" Meera asked.
"I used to," Arjun said. "Now I think timing just likes to play games."
She smiled. "Or maybe it tests how patient we are."
The rain softened into a drizzle. Hours passed unnoticed. They bought tea from a sleepy vendor and laughed over terrible jokes. Arjun felt something strange—lightness. For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about his past.
At 3 a.m., Meera stood up.
"My train's coming," she said quietly.
"To where?" Arjun asked.
"Darjeeling. My aunt lives there. I'm going for a few weeks."
He nodded, pretending it didn't matter.
They stood awkwardly, neither wanting to say goodbye.
Then Meera tore a page from her sketchbook and handed it to him. It was a drawing of the two of them sitting on the bench, tiny but close.
"At least you won't forget this missed train," she said.
"Will I see you again?" Arjun blurted.
She hesitated, then wrote something on the corner of the page.
"Only if you believe in timing again."
Her train arrived with a roar of metal and steam. She stepped in, turned once, and waved.
And just like that, she was gone.
Arjun didn't board the morning train to Delhi.
Instead, he went home, unpacked his suitcase, and stared at the sketch she had given him. In the corner was a phone number—and below it, one word: Darjeeling.
Two weeks later, he stood on a hillside surrounded by mist and tea gardens.
Darjeeling was colder than he expected. His heart beat fast as he entered a small café someone had told him about.
And there she was.
Meera looked up from her sketchbook. Surprise flooded her face, then joy.
"You missed another train?" she teased.
"No," Arjun said, walking toward her. "This time, I caught the right one."
They talked for hours again, but this time there was no station announcement, no ticking clock. Just mountains, quiet laughter, and the feeling of something beginning instead of ending.
Arjun never moved to Delhi.
Meera opened her art studio a year later—with Arjun helping her paint the walls.
Sometimes, love doesn't arrive with fireworks. Sometimes it waits on a rainy platform, disguised as a missed train.
And sometimes, all it takes is believing in timing again. 💕