Here’s a one-shot capturing the weight of a final farewell.
Genre-Drama.
The Final Goodbye
The train station was eerily quiet for a Sunday evening. Khushi stood on the platform, her coat pulled tightly around her to shield her from the biting wind. The sun was setting, painting the horizon in shades of amber and lavender, a fitting backdrop to a moment she both dreaded and cherished.
She stared at the ticket in her hand, the ink smudged from the sweat of her palms. It was a one-way ticket—her ticket—but the train wasn’t what she couldn’t bear to face. It was the man standing beside her, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the tracks as if avoiding her eyes would make this moment easier.
“Do you really have to go?” Arnav’s voice was low, almost drowned out by the faint hum of the station lights.
Khushi took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You know I do.”
She glanced at him. His usually unruly hair was brushed back, but not enough to hide the crease in his forehead. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. She knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing behind his calm exterior.
“You could stay,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “We could make it work.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d said this, and it wouldn’t be the first time she broke his heart by saying no.
“I can’t, Arnav.” She turned to face him, the wind tugging at her scarf. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about… everything. My career, my dreams—everything I’ve worked for. You know that.”
His shoulders slumped, and she saw the fight leave him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just wish…”
The rest of his sentence was carried away by the wind, but Khushi knew the words he left unsaid.
I just wish you loved me enough to stay.
The weight of it settled between them, a chasm neither could cross.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Arnav,this isn’t about love. I do love you. I’ve loved you since the day you spilled coffee all over me at that café.”
That drew a faint smile from him, a flicker of the man she’d fallen for.
“But this is my chance to do something extraordinary,” she continued. “To leave my mark on the world. If I don’t go now, I’ll always wonder what could have been.”
He nodded, though it was clear he didn’t fully understand. How could he? Arnav’s world was here, in this small town with its cobblestone streets and familiar faces. He didn’t dream of skyscrapers or bustling cities or the weight of ambition that kept Khushi awake at night.
The sound of an approaching train cut through the silence.
“This is it,” she said, her voice trembling despite her resolve.
Arnav finally looked at her, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. He pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped her face, his touch warm against her chilled skin.
“Promise me something,” he said.
“Anything.”
“Don’t forget me.”
Her heart shattered at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “Never,” she whispered.
He leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, a farewell written in the language of love. When they pulled apart, she saw a single tear slip down his cheek, and it took everything in her not to crumble.
The train screeched to a halt, and the conductor’s voice called out her destination. Khushi stepped back, her hand lingering on his for a moment longer before she turned toward the train.
Her suitcase felt heavier than it should as she climbed aboard. She found a seat by the window and looked out, searching for him. Arnav hadn’t moved from the platform. His hands were back in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the wind.
The train began to pull away, and for a moment, Khushi thought he might run after it like in the movies. But he stayed rooted in place, watching as she disappeared from his world.
She pressed her hand against the glass, tears streaming down her face.
Months passed, and Khushi threw herself into her new life. The city was everything she’d dreamed it would be—fast-paced, vibrant, and full of opportunities. Her career soared, and she found herself surrounded by people who shared her ambition.
But late at night, when the noise of the city faded, she thought of Arnav. She thought of his laugh, the way he’d hum off-key while making breakfast, the way he’d held her like she was the only thing that mattered.
She never called him, though. She knew that hearing his voice would break her resolve.
One evening, while unpacking a box she’d forgotten about, Khushi found a photograph tucked between the pages of an old book. It was of her and Arnav, taken on a summer day by the lake. They were both laughing, their faces sun-kissed and carefree.
She traced her finger over his face, and for the first time in months, she let herself cry.
Back in the small town, Arnav sat on a bench by the lake, the same photograph in his hand. The edges were worn from being folded and unfolded so many times. He looked out at the water, the waves lapping gently against the shore, and wondered if Khushi ever thought of him.
He didn’t blame her for leaving. He understood, even if it still hurt. But understanding didn’t make the ache go away.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and lavender, Arnav whispered to the wind, “Goodbye, Khushi.”
And somewhere, in a city far away, Khushi whispered the same words to the stars.
Some goodbyes are final, not because of death, but because of choices. Khushi and Arnav carried the weight of their farewell in their hearts, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. And though their lives moved forward, the memory of that evening on the platform lingered, a ghost of a love that was never quite forgotten.
*******************************************
Mangal Lakshmi
5