The train kept moving.
Day after day.
The heat slowly increased.
This wasn't Nepal anymore.
This was India.
And the air itself felt heavier.
Mukesh lay near the window, his head resting on his mother's lap. His eyes were half open, half lost.
Every time the train stopped at a station—
his mother would ask the same thing.
"Do you want something to eat?"
Mukesh's answer never changed.
"No."
At night, she would quietly eat something herself.
Sometimes just a few bites.
Sometimes nothing.
She didn't want to eat in front of him.
Not when her son hadn't eaten properly in months.
But something had changed.
His eyes—
they had stopped rolling upward.
Slowly… gradually… they were becoming normal again.
His body was still weak.
Too weak.
His hands and legs felt lifeless, like they didn't belong to him.
Even sitting up felt like a task.
His mother watched him constantly.
Afraid.
A single mother traveling alone with her sick child—
and a question kept repeating in her mind:
What if something happens to him on the way?
What will I say to his father?
The train kept moving.
One day.
Two days.
Three days.
Four days.
Five days passed inside that train.
It felt endless.
Somewhere during the journey—
they met a man.
He was from their own place.
Same country.
Same region.
A bit old, but calm and kind.
He started talking with Mukesh's mother.
Simple things.
Where are you going.
Why are you traveling.
Mukesh heard everything—
but it felt distant.
Like a dream.
Like he wasn't fully there.
Then one station came.
The train stopped.
His mother got down quickly and came back with food.
A small box of biryani.
And a one-liter water bottle.
She placed it near him.
But Mukesh didn't react.
The man looked at him.
Then gently spoke.
"You're going to meet your father, right?"
Mukesh didn't respond.
The man smiled softly.
"Then at least eat a little. You need strength."
For a moment—
something changed.
Mukesh slowly lifted his head.
His voice was weak.
"…Mom…"
"…Where are we?"
His mother leaned closer.
"Half an hour more… we'll reach your father."
Mukesh looked at the food.
Then slowly—
he picked up the box from her hands.
His mother froze.
He opened it.
And started eating.
Not fast.
Not hungry.
Just… slowly.
As if he had entered another world.
Each bite felt distant.
Silent.
But real.
His mother kept watching him.
Her eyes didn't blink.
For months—
she had tried everything.
Begged him.
Cried.
Forced.
But he never ate.
And today—
just one sentence from a stranger…
And he was eating.
In her mind—
she whispered:
"God… you came in another form."
Mukesh finished the food.
Then took the bottle.
And drank the entire water in one go.
Not stopping.
Not thinking.
Just drinking.
After that—
he stood up slowly.
"I'll go to the bathroom."
His mother nodded.
He walked.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Each step shaky.
But moving.
And then—
the train stopped.
Kerala.
They had arrived.
Mukesh came near the door.
There were two steps.
But instead of using them—
he jumped.
A sudden, careless jump.
For a second—
his body lost balance.
But before he could fall—
someone grabbed his hand.
Strong grip.
Firm.
His father.
Mukesh looked up.
His father frowned slightly.
"Walk slowly."
"You just got down from the train. What if you felt dizzy and fell?"
Mukesh didn't reply.
He just stood there.
Holding his father's hand.
After a long time—
he felt something different.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something… stable.
The journey wasn't over.
But maybe—
something inside him had started to return.