13^th of August - 5 A.M

A hot platform, a sweaty crowd. Everyone pushing each other into the small, compound block of the train. I could hear swearing here and there. Sometimes I feel like the tongue has its own mind. I barely push myself into that cube of a metal and hurriedly rush 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 in the lowest price. Seats are comfortable. The view outside is exquisite. But I don’t think that’s what my heart wants to think about. My mind is scolding that poor piece of flesh that pumps blood. Yelling at it to just focus on the view outside and not think about her. Soon, the train moved and so did my journey. I am going to Shimla.

My ex best friend took her own life.

I got the letter yesterday at noon. Her sister had sent it all the way from Himachal to West Bengal. The text told me that she was found in her room, hanging to the ceiling, on the morning of 11^th of August and that she wished me to be there when they burn her. When I opened it up I just, couldn’t read it. My eyes kept jumping to the end of the page. The end that requested me to visit her for the last time. Or more like her cold body. A train ticket inbetween those folds forced me to drop everything, pack my bags and catch the first train in the morning from Kolkata to Shimla. My mind is blank. Most of my family and friends comforted and expected me to be emotional. But here I was, on a 30 hour train ride with eyes that didn’t shed a single tear . Call me heartless, will you?

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

“Name?” He asked, or more like demanded.

“Sarthak.”

He nodded and took off to another cabin. I noticed I was the only person in this one. My eyes gazed outside again. The sun was out already. Shining its light on a field of grass, trees and flowers. Sometimes I feel like they would taste like honey. The sun rays, that is. They probably have a more sweet flavor than honey, though. The sun itself would definitely taste like mango. I am thinking nonsense just to keep myself in the present moment. My brain doesn’t want to go to the past, but my heart begs. So I figured if I put on a bunch of random thoughts on the screen on my brain’s theatre, that foolish piece of flesh would draw all its attention to the little movie.

She used to do that a lot. Always avoiding to think about the problem and procrastinating. But she’d get to it eventually. Planning, structuring and executing after a long period of rotting. I found it somewhat fascinating. How she could pick herself up even after the most soul sucking misfortunes. I admired it. But now I wonder, how bad did it get? How bad was it for her to not believe in resting and then rushing off anymore? How hopeless was it to think this is the end now?

How bad was it for her to do something like this?

My brain scolded my heart again. It 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 doesn’t affect me that much. We- we were not so close after the fight so it shouldn’t affect me.

Right?

A/N: Thank you so much for reading the first episode of 'Letter From The Mountains'! Hopefully you loved this story as much as it loves you. -nejit