Short Story: A Passenger

I reached the station ten minutes before time, which was rather unusual to me, considering that the train started from Secunderabad itself. I scanned the reservation chart to find any females in my age group around my berth, an exercise which was never fruitful in my 8 years history in travelling by train. But, to my surprise, that day I found a 26 year old female in the middle berth opposite me and I was already looking forward to the journey. I bought a water bottle and a book from the vendor and waited in my seat for the arrival of the lady in the opposite berth.

As the train started moving, I saw the lady drag her rather heavy luggage and shove it under her berth. She was followed by a woman in her fifties, I assumed her to be the mother and I flashed a smile at them both and made way for them by removing my leg. The elderly lady was attractive despite her age and looks like she has passed on her good looks to her daughter, something I assumed going by the similarities in their faces. The girl wore a jeans and a top and was looking out through the window chewing a gum. Probably she didn’t want to talk. The train eased into a comfortable pace bringing in the wind in a gush at our faces as I sat opposite her and started reading. I was not reading much and was glancing surreptitiously at her. I changed my mind about her being attractive; she was more than just that. I could look at her for the entire night. 

They started having their dinner, packed neatly in their hot boxes they brought along. They did not offer me. I climbed up my berth, lay on my back and opened my book again. Then I saw the title of the book. It was some love story, I read the synopsis at the back of the book, closed it and turned myself on my back and looked at the girl again. They finished eating and when she got up, our eyes met. I was not quite sure of what to make of that expression on her face, but it certainly was not pleasant. I felt a weird sense of discomfort, I wanted to stop her and tell at her that I meant no malice. 

The girl came back and spread out a clean floral blanket on her berth, wished her mother good night, and slept on it. I kept looking at her all through and I wondered why I could not stop myself. She for sure was an attractive woman, and I didn’t have much to do all night but I felt like an intruder. I turned to the other side and tried to sleep. The train gathered pace and was making huge noise as it covered distance and passed little villages angrily. 

I could not sleep and turned on my berth again. I looked at the wrought iron ceiling fan overhead, watching it noncommittally, and basically stopping myself from looking at the girl again. I wanted to do anything but that. I went to the restroom, walked along the compartment a couple of times, climbed back to my berth again. Then I saw. 

Her top was a bit misplaced and I saw a bit of her cleavage. I looked intently and scanned her body from top to bottom. I could also see her waistline which her crumpled blanket was unable to cover. Her skin has a golden yellow tinge and I got up looking at her. The train came to a screeching halt as we reached Vijayawada. It was 2 AM. She got up and caught me staring at her cleavage. It was an embarrassing moment for me, but she looked hurt. I could not look into her eyes for fear of what I may find in them. She immersed herself totally in the blanket covering her head with it. I wondered whether she was cursing me from under it, wishing me to leave, willing her destination to come closer, regretting the journey.

The train has a 30 minute halt, so I got down and sat on a wooden bench sipping watery tea from a vendor. The passengers, who got up by the lack of breeze, started fanning themselves. A sweat drop traced its line from my chest towards my navel as I sat contemplating my actions of the night. I could see that the woman has not moved an inch. Probably she was afraid of me stalking her. She may be feeling that I was a voyeur. I was not one, but I have no way of explaining her I wasn’t. It would feel farcical, even to me, after how I saw at her without her knowledge. I was ashamed of myself. I dreaded how I would have felt if someone stares at me all night when I was sleeping. My head dropped in remorse.

The train started moving again. I bought another tea from the same vendor, though it tasted stale. I didn’t want to go into that compartment again. I wished her to open her eyes, remove her blanket and notice that I was not there and she was safe. I hoped she had a good night’s sleep. I wish she finds better passengers. 

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Written for Indispire Edition 26: When was the last time that you did something good for others and that brought a genuine smile at your face?