One day Mira could not sleep.
It had been three years since her mother died. Tonight was the exact date: 12 July. Every year, on this night, Mira could not sleep. She just lay in bed and continuously stared at the ceiling fan.
Her mother used to call her every night before bed. Just to say goodnight. Three years ago from today, she called. Mira was busy with something. She thought, “I will call her back in five minutes.”
She never got the chance. Her mother passed away that same night.
So every year, when she could not sleep, she got up and went for a walk. Her building had a guard who knew her. He always said, “Be careful, beta (child),” and let her go. She never went far. Just walked around the nearby buildings.
Tonight, she walked farther than usual.
She reached the nearby station, which had two platforms. One was new, with lights and a ticket counter. The other one was old, Mira had never really looked at before. She was in grief, and she went to the station just to sit alone.
There was a train standing there. An old train, paint peeling off the sides. A single yellow light hung above it, blinking on and off.
Mira stopped walking. Her heart started beating fast.
“That wasn’t there before,” she said to herself.
She looked around. No one else was on the station.
The clock above the empty platform showed 3:02.
Mira did not know why, but her feet started moving toward it. Slowly, like something was pulling her.
An old man stood at the train door. He wore a grey long-sleeved sweater. His eyes looked sad, like he had been sad for a very long time.
“You can see this train,” he said. “Not everyone can.”
“What train is this?” Mira asked. Her voice was shaking a little. “Whhhyyy is it heerrreee so late?”
“This train comes at 3:02 AM. Only people who feel bad about something can see it. Only people with regret.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. “Regretttt?”
“Do you have something you wish you did differently? Something you can’t stop thinking about?”
Mira remembered the phone ringing and ringing.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then get on,” the old man said. “Before 3:03.”
Mira nervously got on the train.
Inside, the train was not empty. About fifteen people sat on wooden seats. Nobody talked to each other. A young boy near the front kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it again.
Mira sat near a woman wearing a plain blue saree. The woman was looking out the window, but there was nothing outside. Just grey fog.
“Where does this train go?” Mira asked her politely.
“It goes wherever you need it to go,” the woman said. “Not where you want. Where you need.”
The train started moving. There was no engine sound. It just moved, smooth and quiet.
“My husband went out in the rain,” the woman said suddenly, like she needed to tell someone from a long time. “I told him not to go. He laughed and waved his hand at me, like I was worrying for nothing. I let him go because I didn’t want to argue. That was the last time I saw him, and he never came back”
“I’m sorry,” Mira said. She didn’t know what else to say.
“Everyone on this train is sorry about something,” the woman said. “That’s why we’re here.”
The train made several stops. Every time, the doors opened onto grey fog, and someone would slowly stand up and walk out, nervously.
On the sixth stop, it was Mira’s turn.
The doors opened, but this time it was not fog. It was her mother’s kitchen. She could smell the food cooking. She could see the yellow curtains her mother had made herself, still crooked at the bottom because her mother always said, “Nobody looks at the bottom, beta (child).”
Her mother stood there, stirring something on the gas. She looked younger, happier than Mira remembered.
“Miraaaa?” her mother said, turning around, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Mummmmmmma.” Mira’s voice broke. Tears came. “Mumm mummaa, I’m so sorry. You called me, and I didn’t pick up. I said I’ll call back in five minutes and I never did. I’m so sorryyy, I’m so sorryyy…”
“Mira, slow down.” Her mother walked closer and held Mira’s face in her hands, just like she used to. “What are you talking about? I am right here.”
“I know. But I don’t think I get to keep this. I just needed to tell you. I heard the phone ring. I chose to ignore it. That is the worst thing I have ever done.”
“You were tired,” her mother said softly. “You are allowed to be tired. I called because I missed you, not because something was wrong. You didn’t do anything bad to me, Mira.”
“It still feels wrong,” Mira said.
“Maybe,” her mother said. “But feeling bad about it does not mean it was your fault. There’s a difference, okay?”
“All of this happened because I went to the terrace to take down the clothes. Since it was raining, my foot slipped, and all this happened”.
Behind Mira, the train made a low sound, like a whistle.
“You have to leave,” Mira’s mother whispered.
“I know.”
Her mother hugged her tightly, one more time. It felt exactly like it used to. “Call your Nani(Grandmother) more, okay? Don’t wait for the phone to ring. Just call her.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good girl.” Her mother pulled back a little. “And Mira? I was never angry at you. Not even for one second. You know that, right?”
Mira nodded, unable to speak through her tears.
When Mira stepped back outside, she was standing on the empty platform again. The clock showed 3:03 AM. The train was gone. It was just an old bench and a broken clock, like always.
Mira stood there for a second, feeling the cold air. Then she called her grandmother right away.
It rang twice.
“Hello? Mira? Beta, it’s so late. Is everything okay?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Mira said, smiling through her tears. “Can we talk for a bit?”
Her grandmother laughed, happy and surprised, and started talking right away.
Behind Mira, the old platform stayed quiet. The clock stayed broken. But somewhere, at exactly 3:03, maybe that train was already stopping for someone else.
