She came alive

She sat with her brown hands resting on the bus window, her elbow sticking out of the bus. At times the sun shining on her brown arm, at times the street lights. On the last night, the moon shone on her all along the three hundred kilometres. She thought she'd die, then and there, it was so beautiful. That feeling of the road, that feeling on the wheels, the breeze. It was so beautiful, it almost killed her. The darkness outside is most beautiful from on the wheels.

She told her lies, and she was there, finally, on her own. Made her way up the Sahyadris, remembering that time when she drew these mountains on maps for her most favourite lessons in school. She sat on the last seat, thrilled to be alive. There was no need for music even. Sugarcane fields passed by, strawberry fields passed by. Trees with jet black barks passed by. At times she wished they'd drive faster. She felt like she were running on her own feet. She wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. She knew there was nothing better than this feeling on the wheels.
Five hundred kilometres back and forth. But she's hungry for more. The road waits. She waits.