For those,
Who still silently cries alone in the bed, when all the switches go off–
May you find your light soon, and for forever this time!
1.
Tinni looked out of the train door towards nature. She somehow wanted to believe that what was happening was not real and was all imaginary, but the trees and houses passing by in a hurry were determined to convince her otherwise. An event she had never imagined even in her wildest daydreams was about to come true within a few hours.
Tinni, that is Trinetra Singha, is a 27-year-old PhD scholar, pursuing her doctorate in Economics at a reputed university in Kolkata. Besides this, she often takes lectures at several renowned colleges in the city as a guest lecturer, thanks to her brilliant academic scores.
Decembers in Kolkata are not well acquainted with tales themed around "coming back"; they usually follow the regular plot of "going away". And so, amidst fog, mufflers, and the smell of bakeries, whatever else was happening felt almost like a miracle for Tinni. It had been seven years, and a sudden email had appeared in her outbox earlier that week.
"I still remember how you kissed me..."
The sudden voice of Ed Sheeran in Tinni's earphones struck lightning through her heart and paused her stream of thoughts. She tried to look beyond the sight of the two o'clock day sky. A few patches of white clouds were quietly staring at her. In question? Explanation? Or just listening to a story lost in the passage of time?
Tinni took a deep sigh, looked at her bag, and held it tightly from the outside. Why was it always background music that made memories everlasting, and not the humans who were once a part of them?
2.
That day was a little mundane. The winter sunlight was not shining the way it used to. The college was quieter, and only a few students attended the class. The last lecture was scheduled at 3:30 p.m. but was cancelled for some reason. Though Tinni had no work left for the day, she decided to stay back for a few more minutes. She had a reason.
Shourjya was occupied with some assignments and probably wanted to finish everything before going home. So he chose to stay back, sitting quietly at his favourite third-last bench beside the window, playing music through his iPod speakers.
Tinni walked towards him. They had known each other since the early days of their undergraduate first year. Still, she doubted whether they could really be called "friends". They hadn’t talked much, except for a few academic exchanges. She didn't know whether Shourjya liked the beach or the mountains, or even whether his favourite food was biryani. But she knew one thing clearly: she liked him. She wasn't sure whether it was the feeling poets called "love", but she knew it was something. And she hoped, perhaps, that Shourjya felt the same.
"Hi! Seems like the professors have given you some extra burden today," Tinni finally said, smiling.
"Perks of being a good and silent boy. You know, I'm really bad with words," Shourjya replied with a generous smile.
Their conversation flowed freely as the sunlight slowly faded. Tinni helped Shourjya with graphs and a few other things, making his work easier and quicker.
It was rare to find Shourjya without his group of friends. Though he was as introverted as Tinni, she believed he also had a hidden extroverted side that he chose to avoid. She had seen him laughing wholeheartedly with his friends. But she had never spent so much uninterrupted time with him before this afternoon. By 4:45 p.m., they had completed all the work.
Shourjya asked Tinni to wait in the classroom while he went to the canteen to bring two cups of coffee. Meanwhile, Tinni was flooded with thoughts, reflecting on the last one and a half hours she had spent with him. She had never felt such warmth while talking to anyone else. That time had convinced her that her feelings were real. She grew more confident that Shourjya liked her too, even though he had never given any hint.
Somehow, Tinni made up her mind. They knew each other, but they could not be called "friends". It was something more, something restrained, yet magical.
Tinni made her decision.
2½.
"Be careful, it's hot," Shourjya said as he placed the coffee cup beside her and took his seat.
"Thanks… uhm, Shourjya, I had a question. I know it might sound weird, but will you please not mind and answer it?" Tinni looked straight into his eyes.
"Yeah… I mean, why wouldn't I?" Shourjya replied, a little confused, with a chuckle.
"I don't know… but, uhm… oh God! I think… I like you. I mean, yes, I really have feelings for you. I don't know whether this is what people call 'love' or not, but… yeah, I do."
They looked straight into each other's eyes. Tinni's eyes reflected hesitation, fear, and helplessness. Yet her smile carried adoration, and love.
Part of Shourjya's face was lit by the dying sun. His eyes were not lost. They had found a new home — in her eyes, in her heart.
A minute-long silence prevailed between them. Both were at a loss for words.
"The coffee is getting cold. Enough of serious talk. Take a sip now," Shourjya finally said with a broad smile, which genuinely irritated Tinni.
"What? This is your response to all this?" she said, her voice rising with a touch of sadness she tried hard to hide.
Shourjya held her hand gently and said, "Areh… I told you, na? I'm bad with words. But tell me, has anyone ever asked you to have coffee or tea with so much affection? No one does. Because this is my way of saying that I like you too. Actually, you're confused. I'm not. I don't just like you. I love you."
Overwhelmed, Tinni hugged him tightly and sobbed without reason. "Then why didn't you tell me earlier? Why did I have to say it first?"
Shourjya whispered, "Maybe destiny wanted it this way."
Tinni brought her face closer to his. They stared at each other and smiled, drawing closer. She clutched his shoulder and whispered, "Thank God you're bad with words. Had you said 'no' to that professor, none of this would have been possible."
Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him. Shourjya 'reciprocated'– for the second time that day.
The sun, touching the horizon and bidding the day goodbye, witnessed two souls finding each other in a month often criticised for its heartless nature.
December was kind back then.
3.
Tinni looked at her watch and then at her phone. She was expecting at least one message from him, but there was none. She took a deep sigh and looked out again, uncertain. She was utterly confused, yet she hoped. She hoped for something to happen — some sort of miracle, some magic, though she wasn't sure of anything.
A notification popped up and broke her thoughts. A glimmer of light appeared on Tinni's face, but alas, it was just a "word of the day" notification from a language app. Reluctantly, she opened it.
It was a Japanese word. The notification read: "Kintsugi" — a Japanese art. While it is a term for pottery repair, the philosophy blends a subtle truth: finding beauty in brokenness and in the marks left behind, making the end of a connection part of its value.
Tinni smiled. Indeed, a subtle word. How carefully it compelled her to return to the past. The beautiful past. The bitter ending.
Things between Tinni and Shourjya began to grow after that afternoon. No, they were never "officially" in a relationship or bound by any labels, but there was a natural flow of occurrences. The second year of college became the best phase of Tinni’s life — sitting together in class, rumours and whispers along the corridors, sharing tiffins, evening walks at Nandan, Maidaan, holding hands, and more. Shourjya introduced Tinni to hot chai, something she had hated throughout childhood, yet it somehow became her favourite.
Tinni later realised it wasn't the liquid; it was Shourjya who made it special.
Chai remained Tinni's favourite. It became a habit. But deep down, she knew the habit wasn't chai — it was Shourjya. The difference lay in one thing: chai chose to stay.
Shourjya didn't.
Tinni remembered a quote she read somewhere a few days back. It said, "Humans are so strange, nah? They beg to stay if they receive even a little care."
3½.
It was the next December, result day at their college. Both were promoted to the final year with promising grades. But Tinni noticed that Shourjya was quieter than usual, and his characteristic smile was missing.
To this day, Tinni regretted asking the reason — and then hearing those words.
Shourjya's mother had died when he was just eleven years old. He was entirely brought up by his father, a pilot. Toward the final stage of his career, his father was assigned a special compulsory duty that required him to shift to Ahmedabad. There was no way he could leave Shourjya alone in Kolkata. Shourjya was leaving the city the following week.
"I hope we'll stay in touch," Shourjya said, unable to look into Tinni’s eyes.
Tinni stood like a statue upon hearing the news. Her face mirrored the aftermath of a city that had just endured a devastating disaster. Even in her worst dreams, she had never imagined this moment. She was speechless. So was Shourjya.
Two days later, Tinni and Shourjya met again at the Maidaan — their favourite place. They deliberately tried to hide their sorrow by sipping chai and clicking pictures with Shourjya’s digital Polaroid camera. They had exchanged home contact numbers and email IDs, but neither was sure how effective those would be. It was still 2018, and smartphones were not common for everyone, especially among students. So the only thing they truly relied on was a promise.
"This is probably the most precious non-living object I own, and I want to gift it to you," Shourjya said, handing his iPod to Tinni. "I don't know whether you'll remember me or not, but I will. Always. And if the city decides to bless me for a second time, I'll meet you again and fall in love harder — this same December."
He paused, then added softly, "And if possible, please try to forgive me."
Tinni couldn't hold back her sobs any longer. She rested her head against Shourjya's chest and hugged him tightly, closing her eyes. They chose not to waste words and ruin this hauntingly beautiful moment.
The Kolkata Maidaan and December's winter witnessed stories like this every passing day. Most of them were discarded into the dustbins lining the footpaths. Shourjya and Tinni's silent sobbing and sunset-long embrace could have been just another forgotten story.
But it wasn't.
December decided to create another chapter. And thus the story continues today.
Shourjya was coming back to Kolkata that day — after seven long years.
4.
It was already 4 p.m. Tinni had reached the Maidaan and was standing near the entrance opposite the Victoria Memorial. Excitement, hesitation, restlessness, hope, anger, anxiety — Tinni was overflowing with emotions at that moment. She wanted to believe that everything happening was real, yet she couldn't. It felt almost like a Disney fantasy film playing out, except the theatre had somehow transformed into her own life.
She kept searching for answers while recalling what had happened a week earlier. While returning home, an email had arrived in her university inbox. The sender’s name read: S. Mitra.
It said:
“Respected Tinni madam,
If you remember me and Ed Sheeran’s songs, and if by miracle you have forgiven me, let us meet again like the first time — this weekend at 4 p.m., in this same December, at our favourite place (again, if you remember).
With forever love,
Yours once beloved,
S”
Tinni had been sitting in an unattractive, lonely ladies' compartment of a local train, surrounded by arguing women and noisy calls from hawkers. Like every other evening, she deliberately tried to escape the chaos through music, and that was when she read the email.
For a moment, she thought the train had stopped at some station. But soon she realised it was not the train — it was her world that had stopped. Only one person in this entire world knew her nickname apart from her family. And only one person in this whole universe knew that Ed Sheeran was her favourite singer. She knew what the initial "S" stood for.
S. Mitra. Shourjya Mitra.
Tinni knew it was him. There was no doubt. Shourjya had reached out to her.
That evening, the dull and familiar train compartment turned into the most joyous ride of her life. It felt as if all the stars of the winter night were escorting her home with love.
She wondered, was this what they called the 'universe's conspiracy'?
Tinni looked at her watch. Five minutes had passed since 4. She still couldn’t find any familiar face.
Tinni had always been the "good girl" throughout her life — loved by friends and family for her kindness, admired by teachers for her sincerity and curiosity. The only time she broke that definition was because of Shourjya.
She remembered how difficult the months after his departure had been. Loneliness and depression had bowed her down. In later stage of life, her friends tried to set her up, forced blind dates upon her, but nothing worked. She never found that spark — that magic in someone's eyes, which she had once seen in Shourjya's.
And so, she never dated anyone else.
Was that truly the reason?
Or had she always been hoping for something....
Some sort of a miracle?
Tinni denied to think about the answer and startes watching the fading clouds, moving away with the day.
5.
"Trinetra Singha, madam! I swear no one is going to ask you to deliver a boring economics lecture in the middle of the Kolkata Maidaan. So, for God's sake, please smile a little."
Life does need some sort of background music at moments like these. It feels almost essential to have gentle Bollywood romantic songs playing softly. Tinni heard that familiar voice after a septennium.
His face had grown into a more mature expression, though traces of innocence still dominated his features. His voice remained the same, like a gentle river breeze touching one’s soul.
Shourjya was standing right beside her.
Tinni was speechless, just as she had been seven years ago.
Words no longer came from Shourjya either. A hard-bound silence enveloped them — a silence carrying the meaning of every adjective that had ever existed.
They kept looking into each other's eyes. For how long? No one knew, not even they themselves. But deep down, even the grass of the Maidaan seemed to know that this silent staring was not truly silent. It was a long conversation stored for years.
Finally, they walked and sat at the same spot they once used to sit at every day.
"I know you have a thousand questions and probably a lakh curses for me. Throw them all, but first let me narrate my story briefly," Shourjya said, and continued.
"I went to Ahmedabad with my father, carrying a special transfer certificate from the university. That helped me a lot, as I was able to continue my degree from the third year at Gujarat University. Days were excessively dull there, and the language barrier worsened everything. With nothing else to do, I dedicated all my hours to studying. That earned me recognition among the professors. I scored well in my final year, and with the guidance of one senior faculty member, I applied for higher studies in the States. My application was accepted, and I moved to the US to pursue an integrated PhD in Microeconomics. It was a six-year course, and during the final year, I completed compulsory teaching at a junior college. I finished my doctorate two months ago and applied to several colleges in Kolkata, even though I had a stable offer in the US. There are two reasons for that."
Shourjya paused and asked a passing vendor for two cups of chai. He handed one to Tinni. "Be careful, it’s hot," he said, taking a sip himself.
Tinni’s heartbeat faltered on hearing those familiar words.
Shourjya continued.
"My father retired two years ago and permanently shifted back with our joint family. He had been asking me to return for a long time, but I had no intention of doing so. Then, about a month ago, I found Raktim on LinkedIn. Do you remember him? He was one of the very few people I spoke to in college. He's in Bangalore now. One night, we spoke, and the very first thing I asked him was about you. I had tried to find you everywhere over the years, on social media and elsewhere, but I never could. Raktim told me he would get information within a week. Three days later, he called me."
"With a broad laugh, he said,
'Love birdsssss, you two will never change. Answering your first question — No, your Tinni is still unmarried. Second, she barely keeps in touch with anyone from college, but I managed to gather information. Thanks to my once-crush-turned-fiancée, Ishita. Remember her? She's still Trinetra’s best friend.'"
Shourjya smiled faintly and went on.
"Raktim forwarded me your university email ID — the only public contact of yours. That's how I found you. Once I knew you were still unmarried, I applied to every college and university in Kolkata. One of them replied within two days. And here I am."
Shourjya stopped.
Tinni didn't know what to say. Ishita was the only person from college she was still in touch with — her best friend, yet she had never mentioned any of this.
"Madam," Shourjya said with a smile that hadn't changed in all these years, "I used to be the introvert when we were together. Are you willing to take that role this time? I'm absolutely fine with that though."
"How are you still flirting with me?" Tinni snapped, trying to sound harsh, though her voice carried tenderness. "Do you really think I can forgive you after all these years?"
She forcefully tried to hide her tears, but tears– have they heard of anyone, ever?
"I know you already have," Shourjya replied shortly.
Silence settled between them again.
"I know, Tinni. There is no way you should forgive me, and yet I know you have," Shourjya said softly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come here just by reading an email. Even though you didn’t reply to a single word of my letter, I knew you would come. And so, here we are. I don't know whether you’ll believe me or not — and of course, you shouldn't — but all these years, it was only you whom I loved. I mean… yeah."
Yeah… it’s the same with me as well," Tinni added quickly.
The winter afternoon fell silent again between them. Why did silence always choose to arrive when things were flowing perfectly?
Shourjya spoke again. "Let me show you something. Though it might be difficult for you to remember."
He took out his wallet and pulled out a small, passport-size laminated photograph. He handed it to Tinni.
It was impossible for her not to recognise it. It was the photograph they had taken on their last meeting before Shourjya left the city. Two smiling young faces. The perfect couple, Tinni and Shourjya.
"I've kept this with me all these seven years," Shourjya said. "There hasn't been a single moment when I let go of it. You haven't changed much. I should have said that earlier. Hahah!"
Tinni kept looking at the photograph and silently kissed it. Her crimson-red lipstick left a faint mark on the laminated surface.
She then opened her bag and took out something.
It's the iPod Shourjya had gifted her.
"The same goes for me," she said softly. "I've always kept this with me. I don't know whether this is a coincidence, or…"
"Or?" Shourjya asked.
"Or maybe this is what was always meant to happen one day, and is happening right now. Destiny. December’s planned destiny."
Shourjya reached for Tinni’s hands, but instead, Tinni suddenly hugged him.
The old, familiar hug.
The one December remembers.
6.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Kolkata. We will be landing in about fifteen minutes. The weather is sunny and pleasant. Please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened. Thank you."
Shourjya woke up at the sound of the announcement. It took him a moment to understand what had happened.
He had been dreaming all this time, ever since he boarded his flight from New York.
Shourjya did not know how to react to this newest disappointment. It was still two hours to 4 p.m., and Tinni had not replied to his email. He wondered whether she would finally show up. Seven years is a long time; he knew that well. The world had changed drastically in these years, and they were only human.
Shourjya admitted to himself that any reaction from Tinni would be justified — whether she came or not, whether she remembered him or not, whether she still…..
No. Shourjya could not let his thoughts go any further.
He took out his wallet from his handbag and pulled out something. It was the same photograph he had seen in his dream — a laminated Polaroid, capturing a moment from seven years ago, when two souls had been together for the last time. Shourjya and Tinni.
He pressed the photograph against his chest and closed his eyes. He surrendered himself to whatever the future held. December and destiny had once brought him to Tinni, then pulled him away from her, and now had decided to bring him back again. If so, it was only fair that they bore the responsibility of bringing her back as well.
Shourjya opened his eyes and looked at the photograph again. He had seen it countless times over the years. But this time, something was different.
At one edge of the picture, there was a faint spot of red.
Shourjya froze.
He had never noticed that mark before, not once in all these years. How had it appeared? He had no answer.
And then, like a sudden strike of thunder, memory returned to him. He remembered the dream he had seen moments ago. He had glimpsed that same shade of crimson red there, on someone's lips.
Shourjya stopped thinking and began to smile.
That familiar smile — the one capable of melting winter's cruelty, its chilling dryness, even December's harsh cold.
He whispered to himself,
"I don’t know whether it was just a dream, or a script I secretly crave for. But I love dreaming. I have been dreaming this for seven years, and I am ready to do the same for the rest of my life, in the hope of finding that little, barely visible red mark."
But you know Shourjya, and readers, what's the best & worst part about dreams?
They do, and don't, have to deal with the burdens of reality.
So never stop dreaming. Manifest them, either for love, or for life. Never give them up.
Who knows? A little magic might be waiting for you too, disguised as a barely visible shade of crimson red.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the flight has successfully landed at Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport, Kolkata."
The captain's voice echoed again.
It said "successful".
*****
(Except the chai at maidan, and the feeling of the most eternal emotion– 'love', everything in this story is fictional)
**********
'Some stories don't end. They wait'
Spread Love.
Believe in Miracles.
~ Anurag Banerjee
