At the end of the day, the song led Aarav to the train station, a place of comings and goings, where announcements rolled like thunder overhead. On a bench, a woman sat with a bundle in her lap, and beside her, hunched as if sheltering from wind, was a small boy with the face of someone who had been waiting too long. His eyes were the same foggy gray as the woman under the banyan tree. When the boy looked up, he held out a hand—and in it lay the other jutti, its companion at last.