13th of August - 5 A.M

A hot platform. A sweaty crowd. Everyone pushing each other into the cramped, compound block of the train. I heared swearing here and there. Sometimes, I felt like the tongue has its own mind. I barely managed to push myself into the block of the train and hurried off to first class, finding my seat and sitting down.

“Chalo, chalo, the train is departing!” an old man yelled out to the people on the platform.

This is the Darjeeling Express. A train that takes you thousands of kilometers for the lowest price. The seats were comfortable. The view outside was exquisite. But I don't think that was what my heart wanted to focus on. My mind was scolding that poor piece of flesh that pumped blood—yelling at it to just look outside and not think about her.

Soon, the train moved, and so did my journey. I was going to Shimla.

My ex-best friend took her own life.

I had gotten the letter yesterday at noon. Her sister had sent it all the way from Himachal to West Bengal. The text said that she had been found in her room, hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier, on the morning of the 11th of August and that she had wanted me to be there when they burn her.

When I opened the letter, I just… couldn’t read it. My eyes kept jumping to the end of the page. The part that asked me to visit her one last time. Or rather, to see her cold body.

A train ticket tucked between the folds forced me to drop everything, pack my bags, and catch the first train in the morning from Kolkata to Shimla.

My mind was blank. Most of my family and friends had offered comfort and expected me to be emotional. But there I was, on a 30-hour train ride, with tired eyes that hadn’t shed a single tear.

Call me heartless, would you?

“Ticket, please.”

The conductor’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I rummaged through my pockets, pulled out the crumpled train ticket, and handed it to the bearded man in a turban.

“Name?” he asked, or maybe demanded.

"Sarthak.”

He nodded and moved on to another cabin.

I noticed I was the only person in that one. Not a single person around my presence. I guess at that time, I preferred it that way. I wouldn't want uncessary small talk. My eyes wandered outside again. The sun was already out, shining its light on a field of grass, trees, and flowers. I can bet they’d taste like honey, the sun rays. Probably sweeter than honey, actually. The sun itself would definitely taste like mango.

I was thinking nonsense just to keep myself in the present. My brain didn’t want to go to the past, but my heart begged. So I figured, if I flooded the screen of my mind with random thoughts, that foolish piece of flesh would focus on the little movie instead.

She used to do that a lot. Avoid thinking about problems, procrastinate. But she’d get to it eventually. Planning, structuring, and executing after long periods of rotting. I found it fascinating. How she could pick herself up even after the most soul-sucking misfortunes. I admired that.

But then I wondered: how bad had it gotten? How bad was it, that she no longer believed in resting and then rushing off again? How hopeless had it felt to think this was the end?

How bad had it been for her to do something like this?

My brain scolded my heart again. It had dared to turn its attention to that topic. Selfish. So stupid. I let out a sigh and turned on my phone. A bunch of apologies and condolences from various people made my eyebrows knit together. It really didn’t affect me that much.

We—we hadn’t even been that close after the fight. So it shouldn’t have affected me.

Right?