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The Last Passenger Never Leaves the Train
There’s a seat on the night train nobody can explain
My grandmother had this story about the night train, the one that runs Lahore up to the mountains, leaves at 11:40 and doesn’t stop till morning. She used to say if you ride it alone after midnight, there’s one seat that’s always taken.
Third from the end, window side. Doesn’t matter how empty the rest of the car is. You could have the whole compartment to yourself, and that seat still won’t be free.
I never took it seriously. She had a hundred stories like that, my grandmother, half of them about trains and buses and the various things that supposedly haunt them. It’s practically a genre with her generation.
Two winters ago I ended up on that exact train, alone, and now I think about it way more than I want to.
Booking It Last Minute
My cousin’s wedding, up north, is the kind of family event where being late gets you talked about for the next five years minimum. I’d put off booking until basically the last possible day, which is a habit of mine I keep meaning to fix and never do.
By the time I got to the counter, the only place left was a seat in the car that was always nearly empty. I didn’t mind. Quiet car, less…
