The train's whistle echoed through the crisp morning air as Aaryaksh stepped on train the last breath of stillness before world would begin shifting again.
He asked for private coupe compartment but due to last moment booking his ticket was confirmed for second coach from the engine — a reserved four-berth private coach, granted upon special request. The rest of the train buzzed with early risers, tea vendors, and distant laughter from families clinging to their morning goodbyes.
Inside the coach, a young man was already seated, immersed in a worn paperback novel, his elbows resting comfortably on the windowsill.
He looked up the moment Aaryaksh entered, polite and boyishly earnest.
"Good morning, sir. I'm Rahul Singh," he said, sliding his book closed with a thumb still marking the page.
There was a surprising calmness in his eyes, rare for someone who looked no older than nineteen. Aaryaksh returned a nod and settled into his seat opposite him.
"Where are you headed from, Rahul?"
"Darjeeling, sir. Was visiting my sister's place for vacation. Now heading back to Dehradun for college."
There was something familiar in boy's tone — the subtle cadence of someone raised in the mountains, with a foot in both the rooted and the restless. As the train's low hum began to stir beneath, Aaryaksh learned boy was not just a student, but also enrolled in the Huyen Institute of Martial Arts — a name he hadn't heard in years.
Before he could process the significance of that detail, a flurry of footsteps pounded against the metal floor outside. Two figures appeared at the door just as the train began its slow crawl forward — out of breath, arms tangled with bags and luggage, cheeks flushed from running.
Aaryaksh didn't need to squint. he recognised them immediately.
Vaidehi and Kiyana — the very same duo from the Sikkim station — stumbled in like twin whirlwinds. Kiyana froze mid-step, and Vaidehi's eyes widened in disbelief when they saw him already settled inside.
Aaryaksh raised a brow and smiled. "Well, are you two planning to complete the journey standing?"
Kiyana huffed and fumbled with her bag, sliding it under the seat while muttering, "Of all the compartments…"
Vaidehi looked more amused than surprised. "You always manage to appear where we least expect you, don't you?"
Kiyana finally broke her silence. "How did you even land this compartment? You don't exactly seem like someone who—"
He cut her off, amused. "Someone who what? Doesn't look rich enough to get a private coach confirmed ticket?"
Her face turned a shade pinker. "No! That's not what I meant—I was just surprised, that's all."
"It's alright," Aaryaksh replied, his voice a little too smooth. "You'll get used to it."
They had clearly noticed the mix-up on his ticket. Kiyana grinned awkwardly after her shameless question. "Guess we're all sharing a ride now."
Vaidehi gave her a sideways glance and smirked. "Fate's got an interesting sense of humour."
They stepped aboard, the warmth of the rising sun casting golden streaks through the tinted windows of the Darjeeling Mail — four strangers, now companions, carried forward by the rhythm of steel rails, heading toward a future none of them had foreseen.
Rahul watched the exchange of words like a quiet spectator in a theatre. "Sir… do you know these sisters?"
"Unfortunately," he said dryly.
Kiyana glared at me. "We're not any siblings."
Vaidehi, ever the diplomat, chuckled softly. "You two are always at each other's throats. It's starting to sound like a habit."
They finally settled in their seats. After the train pickup the pace pulled Aaryaksh pulled out a worn leather-bound book — an ancient manual on martial techniques derived from Sun Wukong's lore, specifically Level V Punch Art methods. That he'd found by pure sheer luck at a dusty antique store in Sikkim. As he turned the pages, Rahul's eyes lit up like a firecracker.
"Wait—is that…? Is that the Almighty Wukong's Punch Art of Level Five?" His voice cracked with excitement.
"That's the one rumoured to be lost for decades!"
Aaryaksh raised an eyebrow with question. "You've heard of it?"
"Heard of it? That book is legendary! There's only one known surviving edition—until now, I thought it was a myth."
Just as Aaryaksh was about to explain how he came across it, a hand suddenly snatched the book from his lap. Vaidehi. She was flipping through the pages furiously, her brows furrowed in disbelief.
It was the first time he'd seen her rattled. And it wasn't a performance — she was genuinely shocked.
"I've seen this before," she murmured.
"Oh?" he leaned forward, intrigued.
She turned to Kiyana. "Kiyana, remember the old tree house behind my garden? We found this exact book there. You told me to sell it for few toys in nearby store."
Kiyana blinked. "Wait… that's this book?"
Vaidehi nodded. "Yes! I sold it to the antique shop down the street. It looked half-destroyed. I thought I got a good deal."
"How much did they pay you?" Kiyana asked.
"Eighteen thousand. The guy said that was more than fair for something so old."
On hearing Aaryaksh let out a low sigh and quietly suppressed his emotions trying not to laugh, not mocking — just deeply entertained. Vaidehi frowned.
"What's so funny?"
"I bought it from that same store," he said. "Paid thirty-five thousand."
Vaidehi's expression flipped. "You poor guy! You were scammed—paid almost double what I sold it for."
But before he could retort, Rahul cleared his throat.
"Actually, Ma'am… that book is worth between seven hundred thousand to one million dollars, in the black market for martial arts antiques."
Silence dropped into the compartment like a brick.
Vaidehi stared at Rahul. Then at me. Then back at the book, now resting in her hands like an ancient relic from a forgotten empire.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "You're joking?"
"He's not," Aaryaksh replied with mocking smile. "That's why I laughed."
Hesitatingly, she returned the book to Aaryaksh, eyes still wide. "I really am an idiot…"
"No," he replied, slipping it back into its cloth wrap. "Just a little too quick to undervalue what you don't understand."
For a while, the rhythm of the tracks took over the conversation. Rahul was visibly curious about the punch art techniques. So he indulged him for a while — showed him the stance diagrams, explained the power origin through limb torque, and even corrected a few postures as he practised them inside the compartment like an eager apprentice.
"You've got the enthusiasm,"
"but your foundation is loose. Focus on channel locking before you try any energy projection."
He nodded with reverence. "Sir, may I ask… who are you exactly?"
Before Aaryaksh could answer, Kiyana piped up.
"He's some martial arts professor. Got invited to teach somewhere."
Rahul's eyes lit up even more. "Which institute, sir?"
"Let's just say… one that prefers to remain off-record." Aaryaksh put off his question with a smile
That only made him more curious. But let the intrigue hang — some fires are better left burning than extinguished.
Meanwhile, Vaidehi was still visibly shaken by her mistake, yet strangely more human for it. She sat quietly for a while, tracing the edge of the window with her fingertip, her earlier confidence now softened by hindsight.
Eventually, she spoke again. "You… you really know a lot about this stuff. You're not like the usual scholars or professors we meet."
"Maybe because I never wanted to be one," Aaryaksh replied, without looking up from the book. "I just became what I needed to be."
That silenced her again.
The rest of the journey was quiet — not awkward, just reflective. Everyone had something to think about: Rahul, with his fascination and questions; Kiyana, silently amused at her friend's flub; and Vaidehi, perhaps trying to reconcile how a man she barely knew ended up teaching her the cost of misjudgment.
As the golden light of dusk filtered in through the tinted window, the landscape blurred — endless fields, solitary trees, distant hills — and somewhere in that silence, Aaryaksh felt the strange pull of Dehradun again.
Something was waiting.