Strangers and Unspoken Connections

 On the 25th of February 2018, I set off to Vytilla hub in Kochi. I had four days off and had packed my bags to attend my grandfather’s remembrance day for some rituals. I began my journey from my room, and a friend of mine offered to drop me at the bus stand. I wanted to catch an AC low-floor bus, but my friend hesitated due to my cold. Despite my disagreement, we spent about an hour searching for that specific bus. Eventually, an overloaded bus arrived, so I decided to opt for a non-AC KSRTC bus instead.

My friend made sure I got a seat, and the bus was relatively empty. I spotted a seat next to a guy who greeted me with a smile. I placed my bags there and started chatting with my friend. As the bus set off, I moved to sit beside the guy.

Soon after, I began sneezing, and the guy remarked, "It's good you didn't get a seat on that A/C bus." I was taken aback and asked how he knew. He said, "I overheard your conversation with your friend." We both chuckled, and he offered me a balm, which I found surprising coming from a stranger. As I sniffed it out, he reassured me in Malayalam, saying, "Enik kushta rogam onum illa," roughly meaning "I do not have leprosy." We both laughed again, breaking the ice.

Introductions followed; his name was Deepak from Thrissur, with an MSW from Trivandrum, currently working. He was traveling from Aluva to Trivandrum for a meeting the next day. We quickly formed a friendly bond.

During the journey, he observed a lot about me and my life. Deepak sensed a pain in my eyes and predicted that I would open up before my stop at Kayamkulam. He believed this would change my life and give me new hope.

As we conversed, I found comfort in sharing personal stories about my breakup, the loss of my father, and my family. This moved him, and he held my hands, providing a shoulder to lean on, where I even dozed off for a while.

His words, though initially a lecture, began resonating with me. He encouraged me to concentrate on myself and work on my wishes. There was an unspoken connection, a sense of trust building between us.

Time flew by, and with an hour remaining, I wished for some bus malfunction, just to have a few more minutes with him. His unexpected question, "Are we getting closer?" caught me off guard. I confessed, and he believed we were a perfect match. He asked if we could date, to which I couldn’t say no but needed time to decide.

Curiosity led me to ask if he was gay, seeking an honest relationship. He smiled, evading a direct answer. As I prepared to disembark, he declined to exchange numbers, saying, "Let's love without numbers." This left me feeling both tense and anxious.

I was really frustrated.

I was feeling tense because, honestly, he was a complete stranger. I barely knew him, and his sudden remarks were really getting to me.

He agreed to take my number but insisted on memorizing it. That made me upset again. I suggested he just type it in, but he was dead set on learning it by heart.

He asked for my number and started to memorize it in front of me. I was nervous because he was making mistakes. But surprisingly, he managed to learn it and repeated the number several times. I thought he'd save it when I got off. However, I was still anxious, so I scribbled my number on my bus ticket and handed it to him. He refused to take the paper, saying, "Amal, not everyone's the same. Let go of the past; I'll be waiting for you."

As we approached the Kayamkulam KSRTC bus stand, my heart raced faster than ever. I asked when he would call. He said, "Sharp at 8 PM on March 1st." He wanted a straightforward answer from me—YES or NO.

When I asked for his number, he said he'd call before 8 PM on March 1st if he was alive. That got me angry. I retorted, "What if you can't call me before 8 PM on March 1st?"

He responded, "Consider me as dead."

The bus stopped at the stand, and I got off. I asked him to let go of my hand as I had to leave. He said, "Amal… Don’t worry about anything because I won't let you cry anymore." He whispered, "I LOVE YOU" in my ear. Stepping off at the bus stand, I started to feel better. I had a good time and, just as he predicted at the start, I felt a new sense of hope reaching my destination. He became that hope.

Returning home, I contemplated his proposal, seeking advice from friends who suggested that if he was genuine, I should say yes. I mentally prepared to accept, eagerly anticipating his call. But days passed without any communication and I began to wait. Every time I received a missed call on my number, I dialed back, hoping it would be him.

March 1st arrived, the day he had promised. I returned to Kochi and settled in my room, eagerly anticipating his call. I switched my mobile to general mode, glanced at the clock—it was 7:58 PM, just two more minutes to go. I closed my eyes and started waiting for his call with my fingers crossed. When I opened my eyes slowly, it was already 8:01 PM, signaling that I should no longer wait for his calls. I prayed for it but, sadly, the call never came till date. I tried tirelessly to find him on social media and through contacts in his area but in vain. His absence left me questioning his sincerity.

I couldn’t deny that he had alleviated my depression to some extent during that journey, and his impact lingered in my thoughts. I sometimes wonder if he was just a dream or an imaginary figure, yet his words brought me comfort amid my despair.

Despite the uncertainty, I have come to accept that his brief presence had a profound effect on me, teaching me invaluable lessons. His voice, face, and smile are all I can recall, and in a way, he succeeded in reaching depths where psychologists had failed.

The lingering question remains—will he ever return? Uncertain. Will he read this? Doubtful. Nevertheless, life must move forward, clinging to the glimmers of virtue that remain.