Station Announcement:
"Passengers arriving at universal intersections: Delhi runs on dreams and disappearances. Watch your heart."
Delhi hit them like a furnace and an avalanche at the same time.
Heat rose from the pavement in shimmering waves.Voices filled every inch of the air.Traffic swirled in chaotic loops — cars honking, buses screeching, auto-rickshaws darting between them like bright beetles.
Kannan held the purple umbrella tightly, his fingers trembling.
Arun walked beside him, alert and protective.Sara kept close, her presence a quiet anchor.Nish scanned landmarks with the urgency of a man assembling a difficult puzzle.Arjun carried Basil carefully, shielding him from the afternoon sun.Ananya and Leena moved with practiced awareness, eyes wide but steady.
None of them said it aloud,but the same thought hovered like Delhi dust around them:
This is the place where his trail becomes the hardest.And perhaps the place where it ends.
1. The Street of Forgotten Children
Their first stop was the only clue in Akshay's note:
"A big city where everyone goes. Dreams live there."
For a runaway boy, influenced by rumours and overheard stories, this usually meant one place:
Paharganj.
A labyrinth of cheap lodges, neon signs, travel agents, guesthouses, tiny eateries, and enough anonymity to swallow hundreds of missing names.
Nish led them down a narrow lane.
A woman selling tea glanced at them.
"You're looking for someone, aren't you?" she asked.
Nish nodded.
"How did you know?"
The woman smiled sadly.
"People who look this tired always are."
Kannan took out the map fragment from the Goa box.
"Have you seen a boy… years ago… twelve or thirteen… with a bracelet like this?"
He showed the beaded string.
The woman squinted.
"There are many children here," she said softly. "Some stay, some go, some… vanish."
Kannan's breath faltered.
"But—" she added, "—I remember one. A quiet boy who kept asking all rickshaw drivers if they had seen his Appa."
Arun whispered:
"That has to be him."
The woman nodded.
"He sat outside my stall often. Always holding a small umbrella."
Kannan choked.
"Yes," he said. "That's him."
The woman continued:
"But one night, he fainted from hunger. A group took him to a shelter near the railway line."
"Which shelter?" Nish asked urgently.
She pointed north.
"Shelter No. 12 — Yamuna Basti.But it isn't a good place."
Sara nodded sadly.
"We've seen a few of those."
2. Shelter No. 12
The shelter stood like a forgotten box pushed to the edge of Delhi.
Cracked walls.Rust patches.Graffiti half-washed out.Two stray dogs lying at the gate, too tired to bark.
A man in a faded khaki shirt greeted them with suspicion.
"Visitors aren't allowed."
Nish stepped forward.
"We aren't tourists. We're looking for a boy."
"Everyone is," the man muttered."Few find them."
Sara showed him a photo — the one from Arun's childhood, the closest image they had to Akshay's age.
"Have you seen him?" she asked gently.
The man stared for a long moment.
Then shook his head.
But Kannan saw something flicker in his eyes.
He stepped forward, voice cracking.
"Please," he whispered."He is my son."
The man swallowed.
Then motioned them inside.
3. The Ledger
Inside, the shelter was dimly lit, fans creaking overhead.
Rows of beds.Children sleeping or stitching or watching silently.A caretaker washing metal plates.
The man led them to a small office.
He took out a thick, dust-smothered register.
"Old entries," he said. "We write down names when kids tell us."
He flipped through pages yellowed with time.
Names scratched in shaky handwriting.
Some crossed out.
Some marked shifted.
Some marked gone.
Then—on a page near the back—Arun gasped.
There it was:
Name: Akshay N.Age: approx. 13Arrived: 2014Condition: Weak. Hungry. Said he is searching for his father.Left: After 3 days. Destination unclear. Said: 'Appa not here. I must go where work is.'Last words recorded: "A man at the station said better jobs are in the north side. I will go."
Kannan's hands shook violently.
Sara held his shoulder.
The caretaker turned the page.
"There is one more line," he said.
Everyone leaned in.
It read:
"Boy mentioned a friend: 'the painter boy' who lived near the old bridge."
Arun frowned.
"Painter boy?"
Nish scribbled furiously.
"Maybe another runaway? Someone who knew where Akshay headed next?"
Arjun nodded.
"Runaways form bonds quickly. They protect each other. It is how they survive."
Kannan's voice trembled.
"Does the shelter know anything about this painter boy?"
The caretaker nodded.
"His name was Ravi. Very young. Always drawing on walls. People said he could sketch memories."
Ananya muttered:
"A child artist living under a bridge…"
Rohit rubbed his temple.
"This is getting larger."
Then the caretaker added quietly:
"But Ravi is not here anymore."
Kannan's heart dropped.
Sara whispered—
"Is he…?"
"No," the caretaker said quickly."He is alive. He left this shelter years ago."
Kannan exhaled, relieved.
The caretaker continued:
"He once said he owed something to that boy — Akshay."
Arun's eyes widened.
"Where is he now?"
The caretaker lifted a finger.
"Near the Yamuna railway bridge."
4. Under the Bridge
They walked through a maze of alleys until they reached a wide concrete bridge.Below it, dozens of makeshift tents and canvas sheets stood like a scattered village.
Children played with marbles.Men washed clothes in metal bowls.Women cooked over small fires.
Near a wall painted with vivid colours — flowers, trains, faces, cities — a thin young man sat sketching with a piece of charcoal,
Ravi.
Bare feet coated with dust.Eyes sharp and kind.A scarf tied around his neck.
Arun approached him hesitantly.
"Ravi?" he asked.
The young man looked up.
"Yes?"
Nish stepped forward.
"We're searching for a boy named Akshay. From many years ago. We heard you knew him."
Ravi's expression shifted instantly.
Recognition.Pain.And something like affection.
He put down the charcoal.
"Yes," he said softly."I remember him."
Kannan's breath stilled.
Ravi motioned for them to sit.
"He was a small boy," Ravi said."Sad eyes. Thin hands. But he was brave."
Kannan whispered:
"He was always brave…"
Ravi nodded.
"He asked me how to reach big stations. How to travel north. He said he needed to find someone."
"My God," Kannan whispered. "He was still searching…"
Ravi looked directly at him.
"He was searching for you, Uncle."
Kannan lowered his head, tears falling silently.
Ravi continued:
"I tried to stop him. Told him it wasn't safe. But he said… someone told him all men looking for work go north."
"Where north?" Nish asked urgently.
Ravi drew a shape in the dust.
A long road.A large building beside it.Train tracks crossing overhead.
"This place," Ravi said, "is where he went."
Arun leaned closer.
"What is that?"
Ravi pointed to the drawing:
"Old Delhi Railway Station.""Platform Eleven.""The runaway line."
Everyone froze.
The blood drained from Kannan's face.
Arun whispered:
"That's… the place where hundreds of lost kids go."
Arjun's eyes darkened.
"It is one of the most dangerous and unpredictable zones in the city."
Ravi nodded.
"He went there to find work. And to keep searching for you."
Kannan clutched the umbrella to his chest.
"Did you see him again?" he whispered.
Ravi hesitated.
Then said:
"No."
Kannan's heart cracked.
But Ravi wasn't finished.
"He left something with me. Something he said he didn't need anymore."
He reached into a cloth bag.
And pulled out—
a sketchbook.
The cover torn.Edges frayed.
He handed it to Arun.
"Open it," Ravi said.
Arun took a breath and flipped it open.
Inside—
drawings.
Dozens of them.
A boy sitting at stations.A father's shape in the distance.Trains passing like promises.A small umbrella beside him.And page after page labeled only with one word:
"Appa."
Kannan broke entirely.
Sara held him as he sobbed into her shoulder.
Ravi watched them gently.
"He never stopped drawing his father," he said softly."He never stopped believing you'd come."
5. The Next Step
Nish wiped his eyes discreetly.
"Ravi," he said, "please… can you guide us to Platform Eleven?"
Ravi nodded.
"I will come with you."
Arun closed the sketchbook and placed it in Kannan's lap.
"We're going," he whispered."We're close. I know it."
Kannan looked at the drawings — at the little boy waiting across endless pages.
He whispered:
"My son…Forgive me…I am finally on the road you walked alone."
Sara touched his hand.
"No more alone," she said.
Together, they stood.
Under the bridge, the wind shifted — a soft, dusty breeze carrying fragments of the Yamuna's breath.
Somewhere nearby, a train horn echoed.
Not an ending.
A calling.