Life’s been choking me out, same old crap, same head full of noise—me fighting me till I’m sick of it. This is that story—me saying screw it, running from Lucknow’s bullshit to Shimla, to my brother, piecing together trains, autos, that toy train rattling up the hills like some half-assed lifeline. Earphones in, shutting out the madness, I’m ducking through India’s chaos with a ticket crumpled in my hand and a chest full of dents. Then she walks in—eyes big and warm like they could swallow me whole, silver earrings flashing like little jabs, a Pahadi girl who turns a shitty platform into something I can’t shake. What happens when our eyes lock, when my tongue trips over itself, when one dumb, wild move flips everything upside down? It’s fast, it’s messy, it’s a gut punch—stick around for the kind of second that digs into you and stays, long after the train’s outta sight.
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