Kashish Singh
It rained the morning I was meant to leave.
That kind of rain that sinks into your thoughts
before your clothes.
The kind that feels like a warning,
"you are not ready for this"
But I had to.
Not to prove anything
just to return home
after giving the exam
that had already drained
the strength I didn’t know I had.
It was my first time traveling alone.
No one beside me.
No hand reaching out at crossings.
No voice telling me, “You’ll be fine.”
I’ve never liked growing up.
Never liked transitions.
I get attached to everything
to routines,
to voices,
to the comfort of being held.
As a child,
my parents held my hands while crossing roads.
Now, I was dragging two bags
across train platforms,
rain falling in sheets,
time slipping like wet paper.
I couldn’t find the ticket counter.
I was starving, dizzy
ready to give up.
Then a train appeared
right where I stood.
Like the universe paused
just long enough
to offer a way out.
It wasn’t my train.
But I was too tired to question it.
I stepped in,
held onto the seat like a prayer.
When the TT came,
I offered the wrong ticket,
and silence.
He handed me a fine
as if growing up
had a price,
and no one
was exempt.
That train led me to Howrah.
A city that didn’t wait.
Crowds pressed in
like waves without names.
No space to hesitate,
no one to ask.
And still
I crossed the roads
my mother once held my hand for.
I found the bus,
held tighter to myself
than the handles.
I reached the airport at 3:17.
Check-in closed at 3:20.
The girl who once waited
for others to lead
now handed over her bag,
quiet and shaking,
but just in time.
That boarding pass
felt like a miracle.
Like someone saying,
“You made it. Not just here but through.”
And when the plane rose
above the clouds,
everything below
faded.
the soaked sleeves,
the tasteless meals,
the ache in my arms
from carrying too much alone.
Above the clouds,
there was no noise.
Just sky
and the quiet company
of someone I hadn’t met before,
myself
I remembered my parents
the worry in their voices,
the hope in their eyes.
And when I reached home,
they smiled
like I had done
something impossible.
And maybe I had.
Maybe I left as a girl
always looking for a hand to hold,
and came back
as someone
who finally knew
how to cross the road
on her own.