The train doors slid open with a soft chime, and Parampal Singh stepped onto the platform, his backpack resting firmly on his shoulders. The air felt different here—cooler, faster, alive with movement and sound.
This was the city he had flown across the world to see.
He stood still for a moment, letting the rush flow around him. Trains arrived and departed with perfect timing. People walked with confidence, eyes forward, as if they knew exactly where they were going. Parampal watched carefully, copying their pace, their calm.
Outside the station, the city unfolded like a living map.
Tall buildings reflected the sky. Neon signs flickered even in daylight. Small shops hid between modern towers, their doors open, inviting and mysterious. The streets buzzed with energy, yet everything felt strangely organized—chaos with structure.
Parampal adjusted the straps of his backpack and began walking.
Each step felt important.Each corner felt like a discovery.
He passed cafés filled with quiet conversations, vending machines glowing brightly, and narrow lanes that seemed to lead into stories of their own. The language around him was unfamiliar, but kindness needed no translation. A shopkeeper nodded. A passerby smiled.
For the first time, Parampal truly felt like a traveler—not a tourist, not a dreamer, but someone living inside the journey.
He stopped at a small intersection and looked up at the sky, now framed by tall buildings instead of clouds. Somewhere behind him was home. Somewhere ahead was everything else.
And right here—right now—was where he belonged.
He took out his notebook and wrote a single line:
"This city doesn't know me yet… but it will."
With a quiet smile, Parampal Singh walked forward, disappearing into the rhythm of the city, ready for whatever the road would offer next.