Platform No. 3

There went, each four minutes, a train from Andheri to Panvel. He boarded this train everyday from Vileparle at 10:12 am. Although a 10:08 am train would suit him best considering how much of a crowd can form up at the station in four minutes, he still took the one after. Even among the horrid broadcasts, he could hear her wire thin silver anklets which had a bundle of three little music cases hanging each side. She would never coil her hair up, no matter how sultry the climate. Her hair though of typical length, they were a vicious curl of darkness. They gleamed a tan each time the sun hit her head through the inched openings of the aluminium roof. She always had bangles irrespectively contradicting to the colour of her kurti. He could never understand her colours. Only that they complemented her honey dew skin. She wasn't fair. But she had a flawless skin. She had small, murky eyes. And the first time when he'd seen her, he'd discerned a remarkable difference in her from other women he saw; she never wore kohl. And two years of constantly seeing her at the same time, same station, same platform, boarding the same train everyday, he never noticed any sign of kohl. But today he did. She had used kohl. Her eyes seemed more obscure than usual. Even that slight queue of kohl made her simple face look made up. But she seemed happier. There was a flair in her walk he hadn't noticed before. Had she found someone?, he thought. He knew it didn't make sense, but that one question was biting his mind. It wasn't any of his business. And like everyday, he saw her board the train in an orderly fashion. Only that this time, this time...
She peeped out, still holding the handle which helped her climb the train. He knew she was looking straight at him. She freed her other hand and was pushed a bit inside by the oncoming mob of women. But he could still see her face. He could spot her face anywhere. And she smiled. She smiled, blinked and moved in with the mass. 

Silent, 
Ak.