The hum of the Tamil Nadu Express grew steady again, blending with the occasional rattle of chains and the rhythmic sway of the sleeper coach. The scent of lemon pickle and steel lunchboxes hung faintly in the air as passengers began settling in for the long haul. Outside, darkness painted the fields in long, black strokes interrupted only by occasional flickers of station lights in the distance.
Rishi sat quietly, eyes flickering between his phone—now crawling to 24% battery—and the ceiling fan above, its blades groaning slightly with effort. His thoughts drifted toward his grandfather again, the old man's wise, weathered eyes gazing across the verandah in Sriperumbudur, his voice calm, always composed. It had been years, but that image clung tightly, refusing to fade.
He sighed and leaned down to check his old trunk box beneath the seat, more out of habit than purpose. The box, a slightly dented grey metal one with a number lock, had been borrowed from an old family storeroom—half-rusted and mostly empty, save for a folded towel, a packet of glucose biscuits, and a hardbound diary he hadn't opened yet.
As he opened the lid, the metallic creak drew attention.
"Oh!" said one of his co-passengers, a plump middle-aged Telugu man in a bright yellow checked shirt. "Brother… you've got space in your trunk?"
Rishi looked up, startled. "Uh… yeah. Why?"
"Small request." The man motioned to his companions—a small group of five who had now become familiar faces around his berth, including the Tamil-speaking woman who had helped him, and the man who had briefly taken his seat. "We've all got some valuables, and since your trunk's empty... would you mind keeping some of our things in it?"
Rishi blinked. "Mine?"
"Yes, yes," the man continued, friendly but slightly eager. "Just for safekeeping, you see? We're carrying jewelry, documents, phones... Trains these days... too many thefts. Yours looks safe."
Rishi hesitated. His instincts screamed to decline. He didn't know these people. They were still strangers. But the words that came out were not no.
"…Okay," he said instead, softly. "I can keep them."
One by one, they handed over small cloth bundles, zip pouches, and even a velvet jewelry case. Rishi arranged them carefully inside the trunk, placing his own belongings to the side. He locked it with a soft click and slid it back under the berth.
He didn't ask questions. It wasn't in his nature. Even when doubt hovered at the edge of his mind—why trust me?—he didn't voice it. Maybe he was simply too passive. Or maybe, in some deep way, he was tired of being outside of human connection.
Once the excitement died down, the Telugu man clapped him on the back. "Good man! I'm Ramesh, by the way. From Hyderabad."
Others began introducing themselves in turn. A tall, lanky student named Ajay from Jhansi, who was heading to Chennai for an exam. The Tamil woman, now introduced as Revathi, said she was returning from a family visit in Noida. Two more passengers, cousins named Bala and Suresh, had boarded together from Agra.
Then there was the unreserved passenger—the same man who had taken Rishi's seat earlier. He sat with his arms crossed, eyes sharp, his face unreadable.
Rishi turned to him hesitantly. "Which station… do you get down?" he asked, in Tamil. "So I know when to return your things."
The man gave a short, amused exhale, and leaned forward.
"Instead of asking when I'll get down… can you help me with one thing?" His voice was calm, but carried a weight beneath it, as if he had been waiting to say that for some time.
Rishi froze slightly. "Help… with what?"
The man's eyes met his. "Not now," he said. "Later, before I get down. It's something small. A favour."
There was something in his tone—not threatening, but firm. A curious edge. Like someone testing the water before diving in.
Rishi nodded slowly, unsure. "Okay…"
But his mind began to churn.
He didn't even know the man's name.
And yet, the man sat back as though the deal was sealed.
The train rattled on into the night. The cold metal of the trunk beneath the seat now felt heavier—not just with items, but with questions.
Rishi stared at the window again. The blur of lights outside was starting to feel like a mirror of the journey inside him—a shift from solitude into something far less predictable.
And somewhere, deep within, a thread had been pulled.