As time flew, the night grew darker. Anaya had fallen asleep with her earphones in, soft music playing as the train rocked gently through the night. Her dreams were vague, like drifting clouds, and her body slowly gave in to the rhythm of the journey. Somewhere in the distance, stations passed quietly, like whispers in the dark. The train had its own ways of safely delivering passengers to their destinations.
As dawn approached, the sky turned pale with the early brush of sunlight. The morning call had come. Not through words, but through light. It pierced the window, with its golden light with the feel of warm, falling across her face to wake her up gently with its freshness.
Anaya stirred. Her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim golden haze. Slowly, she rose from her sleeper seat, stretching her arms. Her limbs felt stiff, but her heart was calm. She turned and sat by the window, and watching the world as it slowly came alive.
Anaya reached her phone. As she turned on her phone it shows that it was already six o'clock in the morning.
Turns out the outside, the train had already pulled into the final station. The movement slowed until it stopped completely. People began to stir with their sleepy voices, and rustling their bags, make their footsteps down the corridor. Anaya picked up her small backpack and stepped down from the train.
She walked quietly through the station, her shoes tapping gently on the concrete. The air was fresh, still touched by night but giving way to morning warmth. In the background, a loudspeaker crackled to life.
"Welcome to Visakhapatnam. Train number 02815 has arrived on platform number 3. Please proceed with your belongings."
The announcement echoed through the station, mechanical yet familiar. It was a reminder that her journey had reached to her destination point.
Anaya without any rush, moved calmly, her gaze drifting over the sleepy faces around her. Everyone had somewhere to go. Everyone had someone waiting or maybe not. She wasn't sure what she had waiting for her, but she kept moving.
She stepped out of the station gates and found the bus stop right in front. It was quiet, not yet crowded. She walked over, bought a ticket from the small booth nearby, and waited there for the bus's arrival. The silence around her was comforting her.
Later, the bus had arrived after a few minutes. She stepped in, and found a seat near the window, and placed her bag on her lap. The engine started, and the city slowly began to unfold before her eyes.
As the bus moved through the streets, Anaya watched the city wake up. Shops were just beginning to open, shutters lifting like sleepy eyelids. Street vendors set up their stalls, arranging fruits, flowers, and morning tiffins. A few children in uniforms waited at bus stops with sleepy eyes and half-packed bags. Like everyday is a new day of life was beginning again, quietly but surely.
Her heart beat gently in her chest. She thought about how far she had come. This wasn't her first visit to Visakhapatnam, but something about today felt different. Maybe it was the light, the way the city greeted her like an old friend. Maybe it was just her own heart opening a little more than usual.
2 hours passed in a blink in this journey.
It's already around 08:15 am.
Her mind wandered back to the train. The music that had played in her ears, the stars she saw through the window before she drifted to sleep, and the moment when sunlight touched her cheek. She didn't know why those memories felt precious, but they did. As if even the quiet things in life had stories to tell.
As the time turns into 08:30 am.
The bus hissed gently as it came to a stop at the small junction on the outskirts of her village named Kotthapalli. the name board had appeared on the pole beside the junction. Anaya stepped down, her feet landing softly on the familiar dusty path. The cool February breeze greeted her cheeks, brushing away the tiredness from the long ride. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she looked around, the same old path, the same wildflowers swaying on the side of the road, and the distant chirping of birds that always seemed to be singing a lullaby to her soul.
as she began walking, her shoes crunching lightly against the earth. The morning sun was going to grab up with the melting clouds, but casting a gentle glow across the fields. The air smelled fresh like a crisp blend of soil, early blooms, and something sweet she couldn't quite took place to place words. It was a scent that told her she was home.
Anaya glanced up at the wide sky above her, scattered with wispy clouds like strokes of a careless brush. Everything felt slower here, the wind, the time, even her heartbeat. The pace of the city hadn't followed her into this silence.
As she walked the familiar road leading to her house, her fingers brushed the tops of tall grass growing by the edge of the path. Her village hadn't changed much, small houses with tiled roofs, faded walls patched with time, old men sitting under the shade of neem trees, women carrying pots on their heads from the well, and barefoot children chasing each other down the lanes, laughter echoing like old songs.
"Anaya!" came a voice from across the road. It was an older woman, Amma Raji, who once used to live next door to her family. Her silver hair was tied back, and her hands were coated in turmeric as she was preparing vegetables in a basket on her porch.
Anaya smiled and waved, "Namaste, Amma ji!"
The woman grinned toothlessly. "You've grown so thin, child! City life is not feeding you properly, ah?"
Anaya laughed softly and walked on, comforted by the familiar scolding.
As she passed another house, she noticed a girl feeding goats and singing under her breath. a lullaby that her mother used to hum when Anaya was little. It tugged at something in her chest. A memory perhaps like a being wrapped in a soft saree, of fingers running through her hair, of stories whispered into her ears when the world outside had seemed too loud.
She stopped at a small tea stall by the corner, the same one where she and her brother used to buy mango candy after school. The smell of ginger tea and fried chillies filled the air. The tea master raised his hand in greeting, "Back for holidays, girl?"
She nodded. "yeah! uncle, just for a few days."
"Come by in the evening. I'll keep a hot cup of tea readily for you." he whispered.
Anaya smiled again, feeling her heart warm...
The closer she got to her house, the more alive the village seemed to her, as though like it had just been waiting to bloom in her presence. There was something achingly beautiful about the simplicity of it all. How the morning light filtered through the leaves. How the cows swished their tails in rhythm. How the village well still echoed with women's laughter.
She saw two little girls drawing rangoli outside their home, their tiny fingers dipping in powdered colors, giggling every time they made a mistake. A boy ran past her carrying a bunch of kites, their bright tails trailing behind him like hopes on strings.
Anaya's lips curved into a smile, yet her eyes softened with a quiet sadness. So much of her life had changed. But this .. this village, these people, this rhythm had remained same.
She reached the narrow turn that led to her house, her footsteps slowing. The gate creaked just the same as always. The same potted plants lined the entrance. a little dry, but standing tall. Her eyes rested on the door.
Taking in a breath, she reached out and turned the handle. The smell of her old home, wood, turmeric, old cotton that are stored aside in the house surrounded her like a hug. She stepped inside quietly.
The living room was dim, the curtains still drawn. She placed her bag gently by the door and walked to her room.
She stood still for a moment, taking it all in . the desk by the window, the faded calendar still stuck in last year, the blanket folded on the bed, the soft ticking of the wall clock.
She exhaled slowly, allowing the silence to settle around her. Then, without switching on the light, she stepped to her bed and sat down. Her shoulders finally dropped. The weight of everything she'd been holding the confusion, the heartbreak, the loneliness, all of it floated in the air, waiting to rest.
She glanced at her phone again. Still no message. Not only from him. Not from anyone who really mattered.
She lay back, her head resting on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling. The fan spun lazily, clicking softly as it turned. The window was open slightly, letting in the morning breeze that smelled faintly of jasmine and earth.
She closed her eyes and thought of the smile Rose had worn in her sleep. So full of peace. And Vicky… She squeezed her eyes tighter.
There was a time she believed he saw her differently. The way he spoke to her, the tiny moments like with the pen, the gaze, the laughter. How foolish she had been. Or maybe, how hopeful.
"It's okay," Anaya whispered to herself.
She didn't know if she believed that yet.
After a while, Anaya rose and began to unpack a few things from her bag, a comb, a scarf, a folded dress. Her fingers moved slowly, not wanting to disturb the silence of the room.
Outside, a soft knock came from the gate. Probably a neighbour.
But Anaya didn't move. She wasn't ready to be seen. Not yet.
Instead, she turned to the mirror beside her bed and looked at her own reflection of the girl who had left the city in silence, who had cried on the bus without a sound, who had loved someone who never knew.
"You'll be okay," Anaya told the girl in the mirror...
And for the first time in a long while, the girl nodded back...
like, she is ready to accept those things...