Rain drummed a restless rhythm on the roof, echoing a strange feeling of loneliness within her. She was travelling from her home town Bhopal, to her place of work in Hyderabad. This was the first time Mira left home to stay alone in a faraway land. She settled near her window seat and waved goodbye to her parents, excited about her future. The train began to move slowly, she took out a novel, flipping through its pages.

Outside, stations flickered past. Unknown names, unfamiliar terrain. After few stations an elderly couple came and sat in front of her seat. They too were going to Hyderabad to be with their son and his family. The train was crowded and suddenly she heard a commotion. Mira had picked her seat with care: near the middle of the compartment, not too close to the doors, but with a clear view of the aisle.

The lull of the journey was broken by a loud noise in the next compartment—a vendor hawking tea or snacks, she assumed, until the noise grew urgent. Boots thundered down the corridor. A pair of men in railway uniforms appeared, stopping at every berth, scanning, scrutinizing. One held a crumpled sheet of paper that Mira recognized: a missing person’s poster.

Mira saw the picture from a distance and panic gripped her. She looked around worriedly and wished she could disappear behind her book. Although she tried to portray a courageous look and stay calm, her heart was pounding against her chest heavily. She smiled faintly at a child who smiled and waved at her. “Something is bothering you, dear,” enquired the elderly lady seated opposite her. Mira shook her head in no.

The train stopped suddenly, brakes screeching in midst of a lonely rural farmland. The compartment felt suffocating, as if the breeze had stopped.  Announcements stuttered and hissed over the static-laden speakers. Vendors wandered the aisles. Across from Mira, a young mother hushed her crying toddler. An old man kept his newspaper aside, to watch the commotion with furrowed brows.

As the railway cops approached Mira’s berth, her feet and hands turned icy cold. She knew she had nothing to worry about since her tickets and identity cards were all legitimate and correct. But the face of the missing person on the poster had an uncanny resemblance with her. She almost fainted in fear and horror. The picture resembled her, although the hairstyle was different. Mira had never sported such a hairstyle. If she had ever styled her hair differently, the image could have been plucked straight from her own childhood photo albums.

The officer requested Mira for her ticket and ID. He looked stern and as Mira fumbled in her backpack she dropped her mobile phone. The phone clattered and fell between their feet. The officer quickly picked it up, his gaze lingering on the illumined lock screen. A message was partially visible – Be bold. 

The officer’s gaze drifted between the picture and Mira’s face. He paused, lips pursed in thought.

Mira swallowed. “Is… is everything alright?”

The old woman seated opposite Mira leaned forward. “What’s happening, inspector?”

The officer ignored the question. “Madam, where are you traveling?”

“Hyderabad,” Mira replied. Her voice sounded normal, belying the panic surging beneath her skin.

He handed back her ID. “Have you ever been to Jaipur?”

 “Yes, many time. But not recently,” she replied with a pause.

The officer didn’t look convinced. “We’re searching for a missing person. You bear a striking resemblance.” He showed her the poster up close. Mira flinched. The same eyes. The same shape of mouth. Only the hairstyle was different.

“This woman’s from Jaipur? I swear, I am not her,” Mira spoke in a whisper.

The officer nodded slowly, eyes lingering on her features before moving on. 

Looking outside, she saw one officer talking excitedly on his walkie-talkie, eyes flicking to her window. Soon plain clothes policemen along with a lady cop brought a young girl with handcuffs near Mira’s window. Mira and her doppelganger looked at each other. The young girl was visibly shaken and scared.

The officer smiled at Mira and the train slowly started its onward journey to Hyderabad. All the passengers heaved a sigh of relief. Mira finally closed her eyes—not in fear, but in peace. She discovered her own courage and looked forward towards her own undiscovered future.