The Train That Never Came Short Stories

The Train That Never Came Short Stories

At Empty train station. It was a memory. A foggy, half-forgotten place that existed somewhere between reality and Maps. There were no chaiwalas screaming for attention, no hawkers selling oily vadas, and not a single honk from a distant train. Just a broken bench, a rusted signboard, and one lonely loudspeaker that looked like it gave up trying years ago.

And yet, five people stood there.

The railway app boldly declared:
🚆 Train 219B — On Time.

Tanya kept refreshing it like a toxic ex texting “U up?” every 5 minutes. She was in her 30s, hyperactive, over-caffeinated, and done with life and Mumbai. After her third failed relationship, she decided to travel somewhere else . for “Fresh start,” she told herself, booking a random ticket to a town she couldn’t even spell. The train was her escape plan.

Another one 

Rohit stood a few feet away, arms folded, sarcasm dripping from his eyes. A jobless techie in his 40s, he wore an old hoodie and a vibe that said, “Don’t talk to me unless you’re Wi-Fi.” He hadn’t laughed in months—not since his company ghosted him after five years of loyal slavery. This trip wasn’t about healing. It was about… killing time.

Next to him was Mrs. D’Souza, a 65-year-old retired schoolteacher who had brought her knitting needles, a flask of tea, and zero tolerance for nonsense. “A journey without a book is like tea without sugar,” she muttered while judging everyone like it was still Parent-Teacher Meeting Day.

Karan, 22, sat on the platform edge, headphones in, music off. His head was low, but his mind was louder than traffic. He had dropped out of engineering last month and left home last night. His father’s words still echoed—“Tu kabhi kuch nahi karega.” Maybe he was right. He think 

Dinesh stood apart, quiet. He looked like someone who had seen too many sunrises and not enough smiles. He used to be a ticket checker here, long ago. Now he sold insurance. He hated it. But what he hated more was coming back to this station after years—alone.

They all had nothing in common, except one thing—they believed the useless  app.

Hours passed. No train. Not even a mouse crossed the track.

Tanya finally snapped. “This is insane! Where’s the damn train?”

Rohit scoffed. “Maybe it’s stuck in traffic… on some existential road trip.”

Mrs. D’Souza didn’t even look up. “I told you. Technology untrustworthy . Books don’t.”

Karan muttered, “I wasn’t even supposed to be here, man.” His voice was soft but cracked like old vinyl.

Dinesh sighed, “I worked here for 20 years. This platform hasn’t seen a train since 2015. But hey, the app knows better, right?”

That changed everything.

Everyone turned to him. “Wait… WHAT?!”

Dinesh shrugged. “Train 219B? Discontinued ten years ago. This station’s technically shut. Nobody updated the database.”

Silence. Cold, awkward, hilarious silence.

Rohit shook his head. “So you’re telling me we’ve been ghosted… by a train?”

Tanya laughed out so loud. Ha ha ha ha  “This is peak India. Can’t get over my ex, can’t get on my train.”

But strangely, no one left.

They sat on the platform, sharing snacks, stories, and a little bit of their broken selves.

Tanya talked about her failed relationships and her desperate need for peace. Rohit cracked jokes about depression like it owed him rent. Mrs. D’Souza told stories of students who found their way—and some who didn’t. Karan finally opened up. About the pressure. The fear. The weight of being ‘enough.’

And Dinesh? He shared the story of his wife, who once waited at this very station every evening. “She believed one day I’d come home early. And when I did… she was gone.”

A quiet pause fell over them.

The sun had begun to set, painting the platform gold.

Just then, a kid on a bicycle rode past.

“You guys waiting for the 219B?” he asked casually.

“Yes!” they all shouted in simultaneous.

He blinked. “That train’s dead, bro. Discontinued like… ten years ago. This station’s just vibes now.”

And just like that, he rode off.

More silence. Then chaos.

Tanya yelled at her phone. Rohit laughed till he cried. Mrs. D’Souza rolled her eyes so hard it looked like yoga. Karan stared at the tracks, half-smiling for the first time in days. And Dinesh? He placed a small flower near the bench, right where his wife once waited.

In that moment, they realized something.

Maybe the train was never meant to come.

Maybe they weren’t stuck—they were brought here. To talk. To listen. To be still.

To remember that life isn’t always about moving. Sometimes, it’s about waiting—with people who understand your silence better than others understand your words.

As night fell, they all sat in a loose circle, sipping lukewarm tea from Mrs. D’Souza’s flask.

“Funny,” Rohit said. “I came here to escape people. And now I kinda like you weirdos.”

“Same,” Tanya smiled. “Maybe this was the real journey.”

Karan nodded. “I’m going back home tomorrow. Not because they were right… but because I want to try again.”

Dinesh looked at the stars. “She would’ve loved this story.”

They all agreed on one thing:

The train that never came… was the best thing that ever happened.

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Life Lesson: Sometimes, life delays your plans to give you something more valuable—connection, perspective, peace. Maybe the biggest journeys are the ones that don’t move at all. 🌌

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