Once upon a time, when the rains were constant guests of the city, I visited Mumbai. I didn't even find a gram of peace in the city. The people were anxious and engaged about and over the daily chores. As I stepped out of the railway station, a tedious atmosphere surrounded me. Young people who have to attend the offices, parents who have to drop their children at schools and weary traffic policemen who have to control all these people made my morning view.

I checked into a hotel which I booked two weeks before. As soon as I entered my room, I noticed the droplets of rain dampening the balcony. I walked near the edge of the balcony, where I assured that I won't get wet as of rain, and watched the great city of business.

'Enormous.' I whispered to myself.

I was really in Mumbai to meet this person who could be interested to invest in our hotel. My sister and I run this four-star hotel in Goa and we were planning on developing it a bit. I met the guy in the grand hotel, as we'd pre-planned. At first, I thought it wouldn't work out, but it was successful. So, the first day was happily short. I was glad because I need not have to stay for another night. For a guy like me from Goa, it would be sophisticating to live in Mumbai.

The next day evening I have reached the Dadar station an hour before the arrival of the train. I was in a real hurry to reach home.

'Do the people here truly sleep?' I prompted the other night, watching the jam-packed roads.

The whole thing was fine until I found a girl. She was a few feet in front of me showing her platform ticket to the ticket collector.

My eyes were motionless for some beautiful seconds. I stared at her round blinking eyes and the talking curvy lips. Her rich smile and the short, thick hair almost arrested my gaze. I was still looking at her even when she was buying coffee and the magazine. In such a precipitated atmosphere, she seemed so calm and placid. There was a bag hanging loosely over her left shoulder.

I overjoyed when she walked towards me. I quickly took a whole glance at her before she passes over me and vanishes into the crowd. The white-checked, pink chiffon tunic and icy blue jeans were an additional charm for her appearance.

Astonishingly, she settled right next to me on the same lucky bench I was sitting on.

'Miracles do happen.' I supposed.

I retained my gaze away from her, pretending like I was unaware of her existence beside me. The free Wi-Fi service at the station didn't impress me anymore. She pulled a notebook and was writing something. I pulled out my phone and plugged in the earphones. Music wasn't pacifying enough. I couldn't get out of the series of thoughts about her.

'Should I start a conversation? Or is it better to remain calm?' my mind was pondering its possibilities.

'Hi,' I said, finally.

She passed a glance at me. Those few seconds look from her could almost turn an hour in my watch.

'Hello,' she replied and tucked her head into her book.

I expected neither a reply nor a reaction. I was grateful to God, even for this.

'Where are you headed?' I asked assuring that it appeared natural and indubitable.

'I am not going anywhere,' her reply stunned me. She didn't even turn her head from her magazine while answering.

It would be peculiarly insane hearing someone say that they weren't going anywhere but still sitting in a crowded railway station. Silence packed my words. I lost the zeal of knowing about the girl that doesn't want to answer.

'So, what is your destination?' she asked.

'Goa,' I answered, normally.

'It's a wonderful place, isn't it?'

I was glad as she was interested in chit-chat. 'Of course, it is my favorite place."

She smiled. It was one of the beautiful things I have heard and seen in recent times. She gave me some cross looks for every two seconds.

'Siddarth,' I introduced.

'Akshara,' she stretched her hand and I held it.

We observed the surroundings for a long five minutes and I used the time framing the things I wished to ask.

'Is it crowded?' she asked, 'I mean Goa.'

'Well, not as much as Mumbai. Not even close.'

We again switched looks.

'Money always keeps life busy.' She said, as like she was lamenting for it.

Her face was still tricking me to stare at her. But I was just looking at her in the space she was keeping her gaze away.

'Are you preparing for anything?" I asked, noticing the notebook.

'No. I just like to write.' She interrupted before I questioned her.

'Interesting,' I mumbled. "What are you writing now?"

She chuckled. "It's nothing. It's stupid."

I thought she was uncomfortable and didn't push it.

'Why are you here?' I asked. 'I mean if you are going nowhere.'

She shrugged. 'It feels good, being in the crowd.'

'Are you a native?' I asked although I was partially-sure that she wasn't.

I assumed to keep asking until she looks boring. But it didn't seem to happen. She seemed, strangely, attentive.

'No. I am from Dehradun. My parents live there and I was staying here with a friend.'

I knew it. Her beauty had a touch of nature life than motorized life.

Finally, I looked at my watch and it showed a quarter less than four. My train may arrive at any moment. I didn't want to leave. My interest to leave the city an hour back had unconditionally changed.

'Do you like being alone?' I asked. In those times of departure, I didn't care how my words would seem like. Still, I was behind my line.

'Like air, my mood swings.'

Her answer made me giggle. She was becoming more and more pretty with those words. Like hell, I was running out of time though.

'I must say before I leave,' I halted in the middle of the sentence. She was looking at me, possibly thinking about what I was going to say. I didn't mind her looking at me this time, '... that you are beautiful.'

At last, I said, what I was longing to say right from the second I saw her. She blushed and a pinkish line covered her cheek.

'It was beautiful too,' she ventured, 'I mean talking with you.'

I giggled again. She was excessively modest.

'You like dramas and movies, don't you?' I asked.

'I love them."

"What's the last movie you've seen?" I must be stupid to ask those types of questions. But I had no time to think.

"I just completed watching this movie in the cab, Shakespeare in love.' she replied.

'Life can never be a play or movie.'

'As beautiful as Romeo and Juliet and as magical as Aladdin and his lamp, yes, those are another sort of lives we couldn't afford in real.'

She was not arguable. She never answers directly, but her words have a specific meaning in her way. I heard the train impending to us. That machine was going to drag me away from her. I wished it would delay but it didn't miss its routine.

'I too watched that movie, you see, 'Shakespeare in love'.' I said.

A gleaming spark entered, her face. It brought an unexpected smile too with it. But she was silent, which was uncomfortably sad for me. I didn't dare cross the line. But I knew how to have a happy ending in her way.

'You will never age for me... nor fade... nor die,' I recited a dialogue from the movie.

'Nor you, for me,' she catches my dialogue, standing on her toes.

'Good-bye, my love.' I prolonged.

'A thousand times goodbye.' She completed.

In the end, we laughed at the synchronization of our dialogues.

'I love that movie.' She remarked.

I was glad as I gave a dramatic farewell she would love. And then my time came, 'I think I have to leave.'

She bids good-bye and I walked into the compartment. I could feel her behind my back, looking at me. It took me two minutes to find my berth and when I did, I threw my bag on it and rushed to the window. I found her rushing out of the station. I guess she got an idea or something to write. The train gathered speed and its wheels moved in a sad symphony of music related to my situation.

'I was just someone in the crowd, she sought to talk.' I organized myself.

~

Three months later, I was still searching for the girl online. She was in all of my dreams. I was strolling in a bookshop as I would find any Shakespeare books that my love loves. It was when a picture on the back of a book caught my attention. 'Akshara,' my mouth automatically, spelled her name. It was her. She, at last, published her book of poems. I was so glad that I got a memory of her. I couldn't stop myself from buying that book.

I hurried back home and indulged in her words and every poem was like she was talking to me. She wrote about happiness, troubles, beauty, and heaven and love. She had her way of pleasing people around her. The whole thing was again normal until I found a poem.

It baffled me. Suddenly, I was preoccupied with the ways I could find her. I flipped the book around for anything relating to her. It may be an e-mail address, Facebook page, Twitter, or Instagram. More or less if I try, the bench we sat in that crowded Dadar station could also lead me to her.

***

The End

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