Its been haunting me for the past few weeks.
The idea sounds crazy and stupid enough to even share it with someone.
So I did what quiet people like me often do in such situations…
I chose to write about it.
Because writing breaks the silence.
Writing brings clarity.
Brings rhythm.
And in the end… peace.
So here’s what happened.
A month ago…
I found myself waiting on Platform No. 2… for a small trip out of my city.
By train.
And it’s been ages since I’ve travelled like that.
But this wasn’t a trip I was excited about.
It was official. Work.
Something to get done and get back.
Or at least… that’s what I initially thought.
But during the trip, a strange realization struck me.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… there.
The trip was good.
But not because of the place.
In fact, I barely saw the place.
No sightseeing. No exploring.
Just work.
And yet… I enjoyed it.
That’s what felt strange.
Because the enjoyment didn’t come from where I expected it to come from.
It came from the journey itself.
.
.
.
Sitting by the window.
Watching things pass by without holding on to anything.
Not rushing. Not chasing.
Just… moving.
I’ve travelled many times before.
But I never really noticed this part.
Maybe the destinations were always louder.
The plans, the excitement, the rush — they covered something quieter.
This time, there was nothing to cover it.
So it just showed up.
Silently.
I just sat there by the window.
Noticing it.
And smiled…
Then took a sip from my hot cup of tea!