#LastTrain

The platform is dimly lit, the faint flicker of yellow bulbs casting long shadows. I hurry towards the train, my breath visible in the cool night air. It's late, much later than I intended to travel, but the urgency of my journey propels me forward. As I step into the compartment, I immediately sense something is amiss.

The seats are occupied by people dressed in an array of garments that span centuries. There's a man in a turban and sherwani, his eyes lined with kohl, reminiscent of Mughal royalty. Across from him, a woman in a traditional Kanjeevaram saree, her neck adorned with temple jewelry, whispers softly to her child. Beside her, a young boy in colonial-era school uniform, complete with a British-style cap, clutches a book to his chest. The air feels thick with the weight of countless untold stories.

I find an empty seat and sit down, clutching my bag. The rhythmic chug of the train as it pulls away from the...