Chapter 2.5: Platform 0
The golden train slowed.
Steam hissed like sighs of stars.
Shyam stepped off onto a platform that didn't seem built of stone or wood—but memories.
They glowed beneath his feet—flashes of rainy days, laughter under trees, missed messages, paused playlists, and little gazes that lasted too long.
The place was silent… but not still. The air shimmered with emotion, as if the world itself was waiting.
Ahead of him, under a soft white light…
Raitha.
But not a ghost. Not a memory.
Her.
She stood with her hands folded over her chest, eyes wide as if they saw a miracle they never dared ask for.
"…Shyam?" she whispered.
He stepped closer. His throat tightened.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't one of the echo-versions. This was her—her scent, her soul, her warmth.
"You waited," he said, voice trembling.
"You came," she breathed.
They both laughed. They both cried.
He touched her cheek gently, like testing the surface of heaven.
"I searched through lifetimes for this moment," he said.
"And I stood on every platform hoping this one would come."
She took his hand.
"I thought love was just a memory we leave behind when time forgets us," she whispered.
"But you… you remembered."
"I never forgot."
They embraced.
The station dimmed around them, like the world giving them a moment meant only for two.
"I love you," she said.
"I always did," he replied.
Their faces drew closer, breath mingling with the soft rhythm of the unseen stars.
Their lips almost touched—
And then—
it shattered.
The platform crumbled beneath him.
She gasped—reaching.
"SHYAM!"
But gravity—or something far deeper—pulled him into the abyss.
---
He fell.
Through time.
Through space.
Through versions of himself.
Through every kiss he never had, every goodbye he never said.
No end.
No sound.
Just falling.
Endlessly.
Until—
---
A sharp beep.
Sterile light.
The scent of antiseptic and sun.
He opened his eyes.
Ceiling.
Then—blurry shapes.
Then—
Her.
Raitha.
Beside his bed.
In tears. Smiling.
Real. Solid. Present.
"You came back," she whispered, reaching for his hand.
He could barely speak. His throat burned with unshed stars.
"…Is this…?"
She nodded. "I waited."
He coughed. "Did I fall…?"
Her thumb wiped a tear from his cheek. "You found your way through."
He stared at her—heart collapsing in on itself and blooming at once.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
She leaned in.
"Home."
---
To be continued in Chapter 3: Platform -0
Where love is not the destination, but the beginning.