12789 – Murdeshwar SF Express

Date: 22.03.2026

The story begins as the author, SN, boards a train at Coimbatore Junction, destined for Kozhikode. What unfolds during this journey is not merely travel, but a passage through lives—raw, unfiltered, and profoundly human.

At Palakkad Junction, he makes an unusual decision—leaving the comfort of First AC to step into the chaos of a general unreserved coach. There, humanity breathes differently. It is crowded, restless, alive. Faces of different ages, dialects, and destinies merge into a moving tapestry. Stories flow—some complete, some broken, some still searching for endings.

A family from Rajasthan shares their culture, their migration, and their resilience. A woman from West Bengal speaks of her struggles, her quiet endurance. SN listens, absorbs, and slowly dissolves into their world. Words are exchanged, laughter erupts, and emotions fill the coach far beyond its physical capacity.

So immersed is he in their warmth that he forgets his destination—he misses his station.

Then, a call shatters everything.

It is Ishu.

Her voice trembles. Blood—unexpected, uncontrolled—has begun to flow, both from her nose and within. Panic grips the moment. Soon after, she is admitted to a hospital. The diagnosis arrives like a silent storm: she is in a critical stage.

A video follows.

Her face—pale, fragile, almost unfamiliar. Oxygen tubes rest against her fading breaths. Yet, within that weakness, she gathers strength to speak. She delivers what feels like her own eulogy—words no one should ever have to say.

“I am sorry… for not preparing you. Be ready for goodbyes.”

The world stops.

SN, unable to process the collapse of reality, deboards—not at Kozhikode—but at Murdeshwar Junction, as if guided by something beyond logic.

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Five Months Earlier

SN had always longed to be loved. Yet, life had been merciless. His parents were lost in a tragic flight accident, leaving him with only one anchor—his elder sister, Tamilselvi.

She became everything.

The strength of a father, the tenderness of a mother—both lived within her. For SN, the world began and ended with her. Love, to him, was not romantic—it was survival.

Their lives transitioned from Kozhikode to Coimbatore for his higher studies. Time moved steadily. After graduation, Tamilselvi began searching for alliances for him. She gently questioned him about love, about feelings, about past connections.

There were none.

That night, at Gandhipuram Bus Stand, destiny intervened.

He saw her.

Not in person—but on a missing poster.

Ishu.

Something about her lingered. He informed Tamilselvi, who felt an unexplainable unease—a quiet disturbance of the heart.

The search began.

Two weeks passed.

One day, a man approached SN, recognizing the photograph in his hand. He recalled seeing her near Saravanampatti, two days prior. She had been hit by a bike at 1 a.m. He had carried her, unconscious, and admitted her into a cab.

Clues unfolded.

Ishu lived in a women’s PG. Her roommate, Jesi, worked with her in a Christian hospital—they were nurses. Her father, George Kutty, was a driver. New to the city, they had built their life with struggle and hope.

Then came the most terrifying moment.

A body was found—half-burnt, skull damaged.

For a second, the world collapsed.

But it wasn’t her.

Relief arrived—but it was incomplete, fragile, trembling.

Amidst all this, SN had to leave for Kozhikode due to his sister’s visa-related work. Life pulled him away, even as his heart remained behind.

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Now – 22.03.2026

At Murdeshwar, SN rushes—desperation replacing thought. He books a cab to Keri Road, each passing second heavier than the last.

As he arrives, silence greets him.

A gathering.

Women draped in white. Men in dark shirts. Mourning has a color, and today, it surrounds him.

His steps slow.

Fear grips him.

And then—

He sees her.

Ishu lies on the ground, still, adorned in the stillness of death. Cotton rests where breath once flowed. The life he barely began to understand has already ended.

Something inside him breaks—irreparably.

George Kutty steps forward. He is dressed in new clothes, wearing a watch—something Ishu had always wanted to see him wear. With trembling hands, he ties another watch onto her wrist—a gift bought from his first salary.

A father’s final offering.

He collapses, placing his head upon his daughter’s chest, as if hoping to hear a heartbeat that has already surrendered to silence.

Grief echoes.

But no sound escapes SN.

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SN leaves.

Not because he wants to—but because he cannot stay.

The journey back to Kozhikode is silent. Not the silence of peace, but of something shattered beyond words.

At home, Tamilselvi asks about the delay.

He does not answer.

Instead, he embraces her—tightly, desperately—as if holding onto the only certainty left in his world. Tears burst forth like a dam breaking after years of restraint.

She understands.

Without questions.

She lets him rest on her lap, gently comforting him, and whispers:

“Always be ready to say goodbye.”

But for SN, something feels incomplete.

A doubt lingers—a quiet, haunting suspicion. As if something about Ishu’s story remains hidden. As if truth has been softened, concealed, protected.

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Present – 26.03.2026

SN walks along the shore.

The waves crash, retreat, and return—like memories.

Ishu is no longer present, yet she is everywhere. In the wind that brushes past him. In the silence between his breaths. In the spaces where words fail.

He closes his eyes.

And for a fleeting moment—

He feels her.

Not as absence.

But as presence.

And perhaps, some loves are not meant to stay in life…

But to remain eternal in memory.