I reached Ahmedabad ten minutes before time—11:50 PM . The sun was already overhead, casting dry warmth across the city. I stepped off the train with the rest of the crowd, the platform humming with voices, footsteps, and distant announcements .

I booked a cab and started walking toward the pickup point while I waited, a group of rickshaw drivers stood nearby like a welcome committee of hopeful strangers. They kept asking passersby where they were headed—some got nods and deals, others just polite refusals. A few turned to me with the same question, “Bhaiya, kahaan jaana hai?” [Where do you want to go?]

Well, I couldn’t exactly say, “To a place where I feel peace. Where I belong. To somewhere that feels like home—not the kind built with bricks, but the one built inside me.”
So I just smiled, shook my head, and said, “Nahi bhaiya, booked hai.” [I already booked the Cab]

That’s the socially acceptable way of saying, I have no idea where I’m going, but I’m pretending like I do.

The cab arrived in a few minutes. I got in, settled my bag beside me, and leaned my head against the window. The city moved past in slow, sunlit frames—crosswalks, peeling posters on poles, scooters zigzagging like thoughts in my head.

As the cab rolled through the familiar roads, I began to retrace everything. Not on the map, but in my mind. The way it all started. The first day. The randomness of decisions. The little accidents that became memories. The people I met and will probably never meet again. The laughs, the silences, the shared smiles in passing.

I thought about the tea at midnight, the lazy afternoons, the temple breeze at sunset, and the laughter over snacks. The faces I met—some blurry, some already unforgettable. The streets, the skies, the silences between conversations. There was joy. There was learning. There was something unspoken in every day I lived on this trip.

And somewhere between thoughts and traffic signals, I realized—maybe that’s what journeys do. They don’t always change your path, but they soften something inside you. They leave pieces of places inside your memory, like folded notes you’ll open years later.

The cab turned into a quieter street, one I knew well.

We were almost home.

And just like that,
The Journey came to an end.