Nisha's train was half an hour late. She kept rereading her appointment letter, as though courage might be waiting in its final line. Her first job. A new city. Nobody she knew.
“Does this train go to Bhopal?” asked the man beside her.
She said yes without looking up. Five minutes later, he asked again. Irritation rose, then she noticed the hospital band around his wrist.
“Are you meeting someone?”
“My daughter. She told me to stay on platform four.” He patted an empty cloth bag. “I meant to get her oranges. Couldn't find the fruit seller.”
Nisha stood to show him the stall. He gripped the bench.
“If I move, how will she find me?”
She went alone and returned with four oranges. He offered her the money, and she took it. At his insistence, she kept the smallest orange for herself.
When the train arrived, a woman hurried towards them through the crowd. His daughter. It was her father's first outing alone since leaving hospital.
Nisha picked up her bag and ran towards her carriage.
“Let us know when you get there!” the man called.
For a moment, all three paused. Neither of them had Nisha's number.
His daughter held out her phone. Nisha quickly entered it.
That night, after sliding the bolt on the door of her new room, she sent a message.
“Made it.”
The reply came back: “Check that the fan works. And don't leave that orange in your bag.”
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