···Clack-Clack···

Across the busy station, the steady clack-clack of boots on the gray platform blended with the rustle of newspapers, the hum of people, and the odd jarring announcement over the loudspeakers.

Amidst the throng of commuters, a young girl ran through the throng, her laughter piercing the commotion like an energetic bell.

"Richika! Slow down!" her mother called out, her voice rising above the noise, both firm and anxious.

"You're going to fall if you keep running like that!"

Richika's dark, silky hair swung in a quick motion as she turned her head. She skipped forward, her tiny feet dancing on its structure as her yellow dress flared.

"I'm fine, Mom! I'm being careful!" she replied, giggling, her voice full of childish confidence.

"You're not being careful if you're running!" her mother shouted back, weaving through the crowd, her eyes glued to her daughter.

Richika paid no attention to her. She moved effortlessly through the crowd, which was nothing more than a swirl of bodies and legs, making the station her playground.

"Catch me, Mom!" she called out, throwing a playful challenge over her shoulder.

Her mother's heart tightened as she increased her pace, mumbling, "Why doesn't she ever listen?"

She rushed passed a man carrying a briefcase, apologizing hastily as her gaze remained fixated on her kid. Her chest constricted with a combination of frustration and anxiety.

Then it occurred.

Richika's foot got trapped in the edge of a bag that had been carelessly left on the ground. Her momentum drove her forward, and she collided with a tall man walking toward the platform's edge, eliciting a shocked gasp.

Her petite body landed with a horrible thud, and she froze for a second, the shock of the fall taking her breath away.

The man she had bumped into stopped in his tracks, glancing down with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Hey, kid, watch where you're—" He cut himself off when he saw her trembling on the ground, her wide eyes filling with tears.

Richika's legs ached as she struggled to stand up on unsteady hands. Her breath caught when she looked down and noticed the blood starting to run down her scraped knee. Her face crumbled as tears filled her eyes.

The sobs came suddenly, uncontrollably, as she cried out, "M-Mom! It hurts! My knee hurts so bad!"

The man she had bumped into took a step back, awkward and unsure.

"Uh…" he muttered, clearly out of his depth.

From a distance, another man had been watching. He stood leaning casually against a metallic pillar, his sharp features set in a neutral expression.

His dark brown eyes, thoughtful and calm, lingered on the little girl. His polished leather boots clicked softly as he stepped forward, weaving through the crowd with an air of quiet confidence.

His ID badge, which read Manan Ahuja, swayed against his chest as he approached.

He crouched down beside Richika, his voice soft and steady as he spoke.

"Hey there, are you okay?"

His tone was warm, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make sure she was alright.

Richika looked up at him, her tear-streaked face crumpling further as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I… I f-fell…" she stammered, her little hands trembling as she tried to wipe at her face.

Manan smiled gently, tilting his head to meet her eyes.

"It's okay, you're alright. Let me see."

He glanced down at her knee, his brow furrowing slightly.

"That looks like it hurts, huh? Don't worry, it's just a scrape—it'll heal. Where's your mom?"

Richika sniffled, her gaze darting around the crowd.

"M-mom…" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she pointed with a trembling hand toward a woman pushing through the crowd toward them.

"Richika!" her mother's voice came out breathless, a mix of relief and panic.

She dropped to her knees beside her daughter, her hands fluttering over her like she didn't know where to start.

"Oh my God, are you alright? I told you not to run! What happened? Are you hurt?"

Richika held up her bleeding knee, her lower lip quivering. "Mom… it hurts…"

Her mother's face softened instantly, her irritation melting into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. I know it hurts. Let me see."

She pulled a small first-aid kit from her bag, her hands shaking slightly as she cleaned the wound and carefully applied a bandage.

"There, all better," she murmured, stroking her daughter's hair soothingly.

"But what did I tell you about running, hmm?"

Richika nodded, her voice small. "I'm sorry, Mom…"

Her mother sighed, brushing a stray hair out of Richika's face. "It's okay. Just don't scare me like that again, alright?"

She stood up then, turning to Manan with an apologetic smile. "Thank you for looking after her. I'm so sorry if she ran into you."

Manan shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "No need to apologize. She didn't run into me. I just saw her fall and thought she might need some help."

Her mother's shoulders relaxed visibly, and she let out a soft laugh. "Still, thank you. It means a lot. It's not every day someone stops to help like that."

Manan shrugged lightly, his tone casual. "It's no trouble. She's a brave kid."

Richika, still holding her mother's hand, looked up at him with wide eyes. "Th-thank you, Uncle…"

He crouched down to her level again, smiling warmly as he gently patted her head. "You're welcome, Bee. Just remember—no more running, okay? And don't let go of your mom's hand."

Richika nodded solemnly. "I promise."

Manan straightened up, watching as the mother and daughter disappeared into the crowd.

The audience's attention was captured when the station speakers sprang to life with a soft hum following a brief period of subdued tension. The next voice carried the seasoned accuracy of someone who had said the same thing innumerable times, calm but firm:

"Attention please. The next train will arrive in around two minutes. Please stand behind the yellow line to ensure your safety."

The words echoed across the platform, cutting through the ambient noise of murmured conversations and the occasional shuffle of feet. A subtle shift rippled through the crowd as people adjusted their positions, some glancing down to check their proximity to the painted yellow warning line.

"Passengers are reminded to allow those inside the train to disembark first before boarding. Please do not push while entering."

A few commuters exchanged knowing glances, some rolling their eyes as if silently commenting on how often the rule was ignored.

A group of teenagers laughed softly, nudging each other as they mimicked the announcement in exaggerated tones, their backpacks slung loosely over one shoulder.

"Be mindful of your belongings and stay alert for pickpockets."

At this, a middle-aged woman instinctively clutched her handbag closer, casting a wary glance around her.

Nearby, a man in a suit adjusted his wallet in his inner pocket, his expression briefly flickering with suspicion as his gaze scanned the crowd.

The announcement ended with a polite yet slightly robotic, "Thank you for your cooperation."

The speakers fell silent again, leaving the station to hum once more with the sounds of shuffling feet, muffled conversations, and the occasional chirp of a phone notification.

In the distance, a faint rumble grew steadily louder, accompanied by the metallic screech of wheels on rails.

The train was near, and the energy on the platform shifted as people prepared to board. Some leaned forward slightly, squinting down the tracks, while others braced themselves, luggage or briefcases in hand.

The train rolled into the platform with a rush of wind and a screech of brakes, its arrival marked by the sharp sound of metal against metal.

The sleek silver carriages came to a halt, and for a moment, there was a brief lull in the noise, like a collective intake of breath.

With a mechanical hiss, the doors slid open, the metallic sound sharp and clear amidst the hum of the crowd.

From each door, passengers began to step out—some moving with purpose, others pausing momentarily as they adjusted bags or glanced around for their bearings.

A man in a suit exited briskly, phone pressed to his ear, his words drowned out by the ambient noise. A young couple stepped off next, the woman pulling a small suitcase while the man carried a guitar case slung over his shoulder.

The stream of people leaving the train slowed, and those waiting to board began to step forward, eyes scanning for open spaces. There was a shuffle of movement as the crowd surged carefully toward the doors. Voices rose, blending into a chaotic symphony of instructions, excuses, and hurried pleasantries.

"Excuse me, coming through," muttered a man carrying a large backpack, squeezing past a woman holding a toddler.

"Move in, there's space further inside!" called out a voice from within the train, a plea to make room for the incoming passengers.

Among the boarding crowd, Manan moved with practiced ease, his steps deliberate as he stepped over the yellow line and onto the train.

His black bag hung over his shoulder, and his ID badge tapped softly against his chest with each step. He found himself a spot near the door, gripping one of the metal poles for balance as he glanced around.

The train was alive with quiet activity—the shuffle of bags, the sound of a newspaper being unfolded, the occasional chime of a phone notification.

Manan leaned slightly against the pole, his sharp gaze sweeping over the passengers before settling on the window beside him.

Outside, the platform began to blur as the last of the passengers boarded. With a soft chime, the doors slid shut again, sealing off the sound of the station. The train jolted slightly as it began to move, the world outside slipping into motion once more.

Manan shifted his grip on the pole, his expression calm as he let the rhythm of the train guide him to his destination.

As usual, Manan reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his trusty wired earphones. With the well-practiced motion of someone repeating a daily ritual, he plugged them into his phone and placed the earbuds snugly in his ears.

A familiar tune began to play, one of the tracks from his carefully curated playlist. The music filled his world, muting the chatter of the other passengers and the rhythmic hum of the train's wheels on the track.

Leaning slightly against the metal pole, Manan let his eyes wander aimlessly around the cabin. He watched a man scrolling through his phone, a child giggling as her mother entertained her with a hand puppet, and a young woman flipping through the pages of a well-worn paperback.

The train rocked gently, its steady pace comforting as the city blurred past the windows.

After a few minutes, the train began its approach toward the tunnel that cut through the mountains—a stretch of the journey Manan had traveled countless times before. He glanced up at the speaker, hearing the soft chime signaling the tunnel's approach, then returned his gaze to the window as darkness began to engulf the train.

But this time, something was different.

The lights inside the train, which had always remained steady and reliable, began to flicker faintly.

At first, it was subtle, a small pulse that most might ignore. But it quickly became more erratic, the fluorescent glow above him buzzing audibly. Manan looked up, furrowing his brow.

That's odd, This has never happened before. Maybe they need to replace these lights.

His eyes lingered on the flickering light above him, the light casting uneasy shadows around the cabin.

And then, without warning, the lights went out completely.

For a moment, the train plunged into total darkness, leaving only the distant sound of the engine reverberating through the tunnel.

Manan felt his heartbeat quicken, his grip tightening on the pole instinctively. The faint glow of his phone screen illuminated his face, and he glanced at it nervously, his playlist continuing to play as though nothing had happened.

An oddly cheerful tune that felt jarringly out of place. He pulled the earbuds out, letting them dangle around his neck.

A faint hum of the train's engine reverberated through the darkness, but it didn't seem to be moving anymore. Slowly, the lights flickered back on—but what they revealed made Manan's breath catch.

The cabin was empty.

Every passenger—those sitting, standing, chatting—was gone. The once-crowded train was eerily silent, the seats pristine as if untouched. There wasn't even a trace of the bustling life that had filled the space just moments ago.

Manan stood frozen, his grip tightening on the pole. His eyes darted around the cabin, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.

"W-what the hell…?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

He took a tentative step forward, the sound of his shoes echoing unnaturally in the silence.

His gaze moved to the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tunnel walls outside. But all he saw was darkness—an inky void that pressed against the glass, deeper and blacker than any tunnel he'd ever seen.

The train itself was unnervingly still. There was no hum of the engine, no faint vibration beneath his feet. It was as if time had stopped, leaving Manan suspended in a surreal, lifeless moment.

He reached for his phone, the glow of the screen casting a faint light around him.

No signal.

The familiar bars that indicated connectivity were gone, replaced by a solitary, mocking "X."

"Hello?"

Manan called out, his voice trembling as it broke the oppressive silence. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time.

"Is anyone there?"

The echo of his own voice was the only reply.

Manan's pulse quickened. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he turned in a slow circle, scanning the cabin for any sign of life.

"Okay… This isn't funny," he muttered, his voice barely masking the edge of panic creeping in. He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing.

This can't be real. I must've fallen asleep… or hit my head.

None of it made sense.

The air in the cabin felt heavier, thicker, as if the silence itself was pressing down on him. Manan clenched his fists, his mind searching for an explanation—any explanation—but all he found was an unsettling void.