Small pause

It was nearing dusk, and the rain hadn’t stopped since morning. The sky looked like it had been weeping silently, letting go of memories it had held too long. Aarush sat on the wooden bench near their modest tea stall at Platform No. 6, his feet too short to reach the ground, his fingers wrapped around a warm cup of chai his mother had made just for him; extra milk, no tea leaves, just the way he liked.

His mother, Anjali, was wiping down the counter, her saree a little wet from helping a man who had slipped in the rain. She looked tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, the kind that comes from doing too much with too little for too long.

“Ma?” Aarush asked, after a long pause.

“Haan, beta?”

“Do trains ever wait for people who are late?”

She turned to him, stilled by the question. He wasn’t asking about trains. She knew that. Children have a strange way of asking the biggest questions in the smallest ways.

“Why do you ask, Aarush?”

He shrugged, eyes tracing the edge of the platform. “Because I think… mine already left.”

Her heart cracked silently. He had tried to get into a better school last month. The form required a father’s signature. They didn’t have one. She came and sat next to him, her fingers brushing his curls gently.

“No, beta. Most trains don’t wait. But… do you want to hear a secret?”

Aarush blinked. “What secret?”

“There was one train… just one in this world… that waited.”

He sat up straighter.

“It’s a true story?” he asked.

She smiled. “All the truest stories sound like they aren’t.”

Once upon a time, in a quiet railway yard, there lived a little train named Anaya. She was unlike the others. Not grand like the Express trains or fast like the Shatabdi. She was small, a little old, and often teased for how slowly she moved. But Anaya didn’t mind. She had only one mission.

“To pick up a Dream,” Anaya told the stationmaster every morning. “A dream that lives by the tracks.”

The dream was a boy. A boy with dust on his cheeks and wonder in his eyes. He had no ticket, no bags, just a spark inside him that flickered even on his dullest days. He watched trains come and go, wave at strangers, count the bogies… and every now and then, he whispered to himself:

“One day, I’ll ride one too.”

But life had other plans. His shoes had holes. His school form was returned. His mother worked three jobs. And dreams, he was told, were for people who could afford them. Yet every morning, he’d come and stand near the fence.  Watching. Anaya saw him too. She waited. Day after day.

The other trains laughed. “Still here, Anaya? You’ll rust!”

But she stayed. One monsoon, the tracks began flooding. The boy didn’t come. The stationmaster tried to move Anaya. She refused.

“I promised,” she whispered. “I promised to wait.”

And then, one morning, after weeks of silence, he came. With shoelaces tied tight, a small notebook in hand, and a hopeful smile. The kind of smile people wear when they’ve finally said no to the voices that told them they couldn’t.

He touched her door gently. “Are you still here?”

Anaya’s lights flickered on. “I told you, didn’t I? Some dreams are too precious to leave behind.”

Back at the station, Aarush wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “Ma… the boy was me, wasn’t it?”

Anjali smiled through her tears. “It could be. Or maybe it’s still you. All I know is, your train hasn’t left. It’s just waiting for the right day. The right moment. When you’re ready to step in, it’ll be there.”

A long silence followed. The platform lights flickered on. A slow train chugged past them, and Aarush watched the carriages blur. 

He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Do you think I’ll find it? My Anaya?”

She kissed his forehead. “I know you will. Because the train that waits… waits only for the brave...

Years later, Aarush stood at a book launch, wearing a faded jacket and nervous smile. The crowd applauded as he stepped to the mic.

“This book,” he began, “is dedicated to a chai stall, a mother with stories, and a train that waited.”

Down in the audience, his mother sat silently, holding a copy of his book titled:

"The Train That Waited."