Tryst with friendship.

Aaban climbed the train. He took out the ticket from his side bag and checked his seat number. Dragging the brown American Tourister behind him he reached the seat number 21. He then lowered his suitcase underneath his seat and sat by the window, relieved. The watch he wore on his left wrist showed 3pm. Tomorrow, at about 8 in the morning he would be with his ammi and abbu. He still remembered the panic on his wife, Aafreen's face when he had come home from his office at about 8:30pm. "What happened Aafreen? why do you look so worried? Is Sultana alright?","Ammijan had called from Kolkata. Abbu, he...","What is it?"," Abbu had a massive heart attack this morning. Ammi called us to inform that this maybe his last......". The words disappeared out of his mind when a man entered the birth. He was quit a plump man and sweat was dripping down from his bald head and covered his face like dew drops on a big red apple. He was talking , rather shouting something in Bengali over his mobile phone. After a while he cut the phone and dug it in his pocket. He smiled at Aaban and said,"Hello". Aaban smiled back at him and then continued staring out of his window.
(To be continued......)