Between The Stops

By Roshan Tara

I never knew what love was,

until the morning the metro doors slid open,

and there he stood

sunlight spilling over his hair,

fingers curling around the strap of his bag.

A navy blazer, the school crest

matching mine like a quiet secret,

and yet

I had never seen him before.

In that moment,

my heart skipped a station.

Since that day,

I rise earlier than the sun,

racing to the platform

just to stand where he stands,

to breathe the same chilled air

before the train arrives.

The world rushes past in its usual hurry,

but inside me, time slows,

and I watch him

as though every glance

might be the only one.

They say he’s a year above me

popular, brilliant,

the kind everyone admires.

and he doesn’t even know I exist.

And maybe that’s part of the beauty

to carry this quiet love

like a letter

I’m too shy to send.

I can’t dance.

But I joined the cheerleading team anyway,

just to be close enough

to shout his name

when he plays football.

That day he scored,

his eyes found mine across the field,

and he smiled—

a small, fleeting smile

that felt like it belonged only to me.

If I had a time stone,

I’d turn it endlessly,

rewind the seconds

until forever lived

inside that look,

where his gaze held mine

and my lungs forgot to breathe.

I dream of confessing

whispering these feelings

into the space between us

but fear builds its walls high.

Still, he is my first love,

and somewhere deep in my unlearned heart,

I hope he might also be my last.

And every afternoon,

the doors part once more

he steps off at his station,

and I remain behind,

carrying this innocent story

between my stops,

between my breaths

the foolish girl

who found love for the first time

on a city train,

and wished

it would never end.

By Roshan Tara