Came across this hauntingly wonderful song “500 Miles” sung by Joan Baez on YouTube. It rekindled the old memories of non-internet era when I heard this beautiful rendition on short wave radio.

While I was viewing it, I thought of following it up with a story – of the boy who misses the train, and the girl who boards it. So here goes.

He had missed the train. The train that chugged out of the station carrying several passengers, and most importantly, her. She had leaned out of the window, her scarf fluttering, her eyes searching for him. He had stood frozen. Unknown to her, he was at the station and watching her as she sat by the window, searching for him. Then the whistle blew, the wheels turned, and she was gone.

Years passed. He buried himself in work, in duties, in the ordinary noise of life. Every visit to the station however, brought those excruciating memories back. And a feeling of cowardice and perfidy in his own self.

And then, one late afternoon, in the market of a town neither of them truly belonged to, he saw her. At first, he doubted as she had aged differently than he would have imagined. But when her eyes lifted and met his, he knew. She stopped too, the basket in her hand tilting slightly.

“It has been… years,” she said at last.

“Too many,” he answered. “And yet, here we are.”

Her eyes lingered on his face. “You have changed.”

“So have you,” he said softly. Then, with a half-smile: “But I would have known you anywhere.”

She looked away briefly, then back at him. “You never came to the train.”

“I stood on the platform, watching you from behind a tree as the train rolled-off. Torn between my responsibilities towards my family and my love, I had to choose the former. I listened to fear more than to love. Maybe I was waiting for another train that would take me out of there later.”

“There rarely is,” she replied, though the words carried no reproach.

They walked slowly through the square, silently. Both could not find words to speak. Neither asked about families, children, or years apart. Instead, their thoughts drifted to old evenings by the river, village fairs where they stole glances among the crowds, quarrels so small they seemed sweet now. Every shared memory seemed to rewind time back, just a little.

She heard the distinct horn of her car, probably her impatient partner had waited long enough for the conversation to be over. She adjusted her scarf. “I should go.”

He nodded. “Yes. And I should too.”

But neither moved for a few moments. Finally, she reached for his hand, held it lightly, briefly, then let it go. “Take care,” she said.

“And you,” he answered.

She turned away, and he stood watching until the crowd swallowed her figure. Some trains are missed forever, but thankfully the memories of those remain stationed in the heart, he wearily said to himself.

Her husband, who saw the interaction from the parking lot, asked, “Who was that?”

She said, not sure how else to explain it to him, “Oh, just someone who missed his train.”