Dragging her small black case over the posh Oxford Street pavement she went fuming. Angry at a man who is probably sleeping right now, on the other side of the the Atlantic. Making her way through the London morning crowd, Alba raced past the Marble Arch speaking to herself, shaking her head now and then.
Earlier that morning had she thought of the Golden Gate, and all she had now was a piece of paper denying her entry into the United States of America, pending necessary administrative processing.
There is a peculiar thing about the Marble Arch tube station. It’s unusually warm inside and a frenzied artificial breeze is blown through the station for air circulation. Alba still imaginarily angry, stood near an air outlet and looked at the westbound platform,her curls dancing in the airflow. The warm breeze and the people on the platform transported her to 2010.
New Delhi, seven years ago. Alba used to arrive daily at the Delhi Metro’s red line junction Kashmiri Gate, on her way to the university. Millions of people arrive and depart from the station each day. Everyone of them, busy. Though with a million yet all alone, did she make her way to her platform for the two years that followed; Trying to imagine who would it be, who would steal her attention and reason for good, she used to smile as she boarded her trains.
As the Liverpool street bound train arrived, Alba’s trance was broken. The smile that she used to have back then, decorating her face now. She knew who was she thinking of just a while back, the one sleeping across the Atlantic, of course!
As the train doors closed, she glanced at the Marble Arch sign inside the red circle and sighed. Kashmiri Gate to the Golden Gate, a really long way to have gone, she thought.