The cab was here.

I went downstairs, with my bags. I gave the driver the OTP like handing over a quiet confirmation of the journey I was about to take. And just like that, we took off.

Mornings are always gentle. No shouting, no impatient horns. The streets were almost empty—just a faint trail of early risers and the distant bark of a street dog. The city, usually so loud and full of itself, felt like it was still stretching its arms after a deep sleep. The air had that soft rush of cold breeze brushing against my face, something rare and almost magical in this summer sky. The sky itself was still black, not night anymore but not morning yet either. That in-between hue where everything feels slow and honest.

I put on my earphones, as I always do, just to turn a simple cab ride into something that feels cinematic. A little escape from real time. My playlist matched the mood perfectly—slow, word-heavy songs that make you reflect more than they entertain.

We moved on, and so did my thoughts. We passed through different areas, different streets—and with them, my emotions quietly changed too. Some lanes reminded me of my childhood, some made me wonder about the people who live in broken homes with leaky roofs, some looked familiar and some completely forgotten. I saw people who were already out for work—some pulling carts, some sweeping streets, some just sitting there with lost eyes, waiting for something to begin. I saw homeless people curled into corners of footpaths, their backs bent against the chill. And I wondered how they sleep through it all. I felt like I have so much more than them, and yet… somewhere deep down, I’ve felt unsatisfied at times. Not because I want more—but because sometimes I don’t know what I want.

That feeling lingered inside me like a quiet whisper, but I didn’t fight it. I let it sit beside me in the cab.

Soon, we were almost around the railway station. You could already feel the shift in energy. The quiet breeze gave way to the heat rising off the ground, the silence replaced with a wave of voices layered on top of each other. There was a kind of rhythm to it—chaotic but familiar.

You could see the rush even at this hour. People going in and out of the station, dragging heavy suitcases, carrying bags on their shoulders, some carrying children half-asleep in their arms. There was no specific direction—it was movement in every possible one. Families huddled together near the gate, couples whispering instructions to each other, solo travelers with headphones and sleepy eyes, checking their phones for platform updates. There was a mess of autos, cabs, and people bargaining with them outside the station gates. Some were shouting out destinations, some just stood with hopeful eyes—waiting for customers, waiting for something.

There were hawkers already up, selling tea and samosas and cold drinks like they never slept. Porters in red uniforms were busy already, yelling prices to help carry someone’s luggage.

And  there for a moment—before stepping out—i  was just there watching