As the train lurched forward, Raghu’s backpack slid off the overhead rack, landing with a thud near Revathi’s feet. He scrambled to pick it up, muttering apologies. Revathi smiled, her dimples catching him off guard. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, handing him a stray pen that had rolled out. ‘First time on a long journey?’

The Chennai Central station buzzed with chaos, a symphony of honking taxis, shouting porters, and the low hum of departing trains. Raghu, seventeen, adjusted the strap of his worn backpack, his heart pounding with the weight of leaving home for the first time. He was headed to New Delhi to join Northern Railways as an apprentice, a job his father had secured through a friend. His palms were sweaty as he boarded the Tamil Nadu Express, scanning for his seat in the crowded 2A coach.

Across the aisle, Revathi, also seventeen, sat by the window, her dupatta fluttering in the breeze from the open pane. She, too, was bound for Delhi, her first job as a ticketing clerk with Northern Railways waiting. Her parents had been reluctant, but Revathi’s fierce determination had won them over. She clutched a small diary, scribbling thoughts to calm her nerves, her dark eyes occasionally darting to the passing platform.

As the train lurched forward, Raghu’s backpack slid off the overhead rack, landing with a thud near Revathi’s feet. He scrambled to pick it up, muttering apologies. Revathi smiled, her dimples catching him off guard. “It’s okay,” she said, handing him a stray pen that had rolled out. “First time on a long journey?”

Raghu nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. You?”

“Same,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I’m Revathi.”

“Raghu,” he replied, settling into his seat. Their conversation began tentatively—small talk about Chennai’s heat, the train’s food, their shared destination. But as hours passed, the words flowed easier. They discovered they both loved old Tamil songs, arguing playfully over whether Ilaiyaraaja or A.R. Rahman was the true maestro. Revathi teased Raghu about his clumsy backpack incident, and he countered by mimicking her habit of twirling her pen while thinking.

By evening, as the train rolled through Andhra Pradesh’s golden fields, they were sharing deeper stories. Raghu spoke of his father’s pride when he got the railway job, how it felt like a chance to prove himself. Revathi confessed her fear of failing in Delhi, of being too small-town for the big city. “But I want to make my parents proud,” she said, her eyes glinting with resolve. Raghu felt a strange warmth, a pull toward her quiet strength.

At Vijayawada, they pooled their money for a shared plate of biryani from a platform vendor, laughing as they juggled the foil container between them. The train’s rhythm—its clacks and sways—became a backdrop to their growing ease. When night fell, they stayed awake, whispering under the dim coach lights. Raghu pointed out constellations through the window, making up silly names for stars when he didn’t know the real ones. Revathi giggled, her laughter a melody he wanted to hear again.

The next morning, somewhere in Maharashtra, Revathi sketched a quick portrait of Raghu in her diary, capturing his lopsided grin. “You’re not bad at this,” he said, impressed, his fingers brushing hers as she showed him the page. The touch lingered, electric, and their eyes met briefly before she looked away, blushing. Raghu’s heart raced; he’d never felt this before, this mix of nervousness and joy.

As the train neared Delhi, the reality of their journey’s end loomed. They exchanged stories of their dreams—Raghu wanted to one day design railway bridges, Revathi hoped to travel every rail route in India. But neither spoke of what would happen when they stepped off the train. The silence grew heavy, filled with unspoken questions.

At dusk on the second day, the train paused at a small station in Uttar Pradesh. Raghu, impulsive, suggested they step onto the platform for fresh air. The station was quiet, lit by flickering lamps. They stood close, the cool evening air brushing their skin. “Revathi,” Raghu said, his voice low, “I don’t want this to end. Meeting you… it’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”

Revathi’s breath caught. She looked at him, her eyes searching his. “Me too,” she whispered. “But Delhi… it’s a big place. What if we get lost?”

“We won’t,” he said, bolder than he felt. “We’ll find each other. At work, or… anywhere.” He reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. For a moment, they stood there, hands clasped, the train’s whistle a distant call.

Back on board, they exchanged phone numbers, scribbling them in Revathi’s diary with promises to meet soon. As the train pulled into New Delhi’s bustling station, the crowd threatened to sweep them apart. Raghu grabbed Revathi’s hand again, guiding her through the chaos to the platform’s edge. They stood there, bags at their feet, the city sprawling before them.

“See you at the railway office?” Revathi asked, her smile shy but hopeful.

“Count on it,” Raghu said, grinning. They parted with a wave, but as Raghu walked away, he felt lighter, like the journey had given him more than a job—it had given him Revathi.

In the days that followed, they’d find each other in the crowded railway canteen, stealing moments over chai, their laughter echoing like the train’s rhythm. The tracks that brought them together stretched into their future, a path they’d travel side by side, young and in love, with Delhi’s chaos as their new beginning.