The train moved with a steady rhythm, its iron wheels carving through the tracks like a heartbeat that refused to slow down.
Inside Coach B2, Seat 36 and 39 were occupied by two people who hadn't spoken in over an hour.
A husband and a wife.
And yet, there was nothing between them anymore.
No laughter.
No irritation.
Not even anger.
Just silence.
She sat by the window, her head slightly tilted, earphones plugged in. Outside, the evening sky stretched endlessly—orange fading into purple, then into a quiet darkness. Villages passed like forgotten memories, blurred and insignificant.
Inside her playlist, a soft romantic song played.
The irony never reached her.
Behind her, he sat upright, his hands resting calmly on his knees. To anyone else, he looked composed—almost indifferent.
But his eyes told a different story.
They kept drifting toward her.
Not openly. Never directly.
Just small glances. Careful ones.
As if even looking at her too long might break something that was already fragile.
Or maybe… already broken.
The ticket inspector passed by, checking tickets with mechanical efficiency. A family across the aisle argued over snacks. Two students laughed loudly at something on their phone.
Life continued normally.
Except for them.
Because tomorrow wasn't normal.
Tomorrow, they would reach the state capital.
Tomorrow, they would walk into a lawyer's office.
Tomorrow, they would sign the papers.
And after that—
They would become strangers again.
She adjusted her position slightly, pulling her shawl closer. The movement was small, but he noticed.
He always noticed.
For two years, he had noticed everything.
The way she avoided eye contact.
The way her tone changed when she spoke to him versus others.
The way she never really laughed around him.
And the way she seemed… lighter… when he wasn't around.
He had tried.
God knows he had tried.
But love, he had learned, cannot grow in one direction forever.
The train lurched slightly as it crossed a bridge. The sound of water rushing below echoed faintly through the metal structure.
She looked outside again.
For a brief second, her reflection appeared on the glass.
And for the first time in a long while—
She looked tired.
Not physically.
But emotionally.
As if something inside her had been stretched too far for too long.
Behind her, he closed his eyes.
Not to sleep.
But to escape.
Just for a moment.