Anantakshar

  I had a waiting ticket. I wasn’t sure it would get confirmed. The station was packed, every single person there wanted to go to Point B. When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me stories about Point B. She said it was beautiful. Serene. There’s a Master there who takes care of everyone who arrives, but no one has really seen Point B firsthand. Just stories. Myths. Some people claimed they’d been there, stayed a while, then came back. Hard to believe, honestly. But Point B always had a soft corner in my heart. From the moment I gained rationality, I wanted nationality there. Also, yes, jokes like these apparently work in Point B, so bear with me. Everyone at the station looked both distinct and oddly similar. They all carried some kind of injury. Some were visible, bandaged limbs, bruised faces. Others… not so much. But you could tell. Some people were walking around. Some were sleeping peacefully on the floor. I waited in the waiting room. Our train was running a bit late. There’...