The train was pulling into the station slowly, its wheels screeching in sync with his heartbeat. Just then, his phone buzzed. “Have you reached? Give short missed call ” A small smile appeared on his face. This was their way of talking. Back in the days when they were just friends, both had basic mobiles. He had the luxury of 100 free SMS per day, but she used BSNL — Every SMS cost her money. So she would send only one message a day. A long one — typed carefully, every word chosen like it mattered. For the rest, she replied with a missed call. They had built their own secret language: Short missed call — “Yes.” Long missed call — “No.” No missed call — Her elder sister was nearby. He had memorized her first mobile number like a poem. He could recite it even in his sleep. 9445177676 — a number that would live in his mind forever. Every morning, he would send her the usual message: “Hey Shrien, good morning. Ezunthacha? Akka pakathula irukangala? Short missed call illana long missed call ” And moments later, his phone would light up with a gentle blink-blink. A short missed call. Just that tiny signal from her — it meant everything to him. He would trade multiple iPhones of today to relive just one of those moments.A love language only they understood. Now, as the train neared its stop, he sent another message: “Train just entered Trichy… Coming soon..” And gave her a short missed call. Like the train, they too had come a long way — from missed calls to missing each other. Outside the window, the platform became clearer. People waiting. Noises all around. But he was just searching for one face. And before he could find her — she found him. “Hey Gowtham…” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “Paathu evalo naal aachu. Epadi iruka?” The noise around him faded. The crowd, the chaos — it all disappeared. Only her voice remained, ringing in his ears. He smiled softly. “Una paathuten la… ipo nalla iruken.” They smiled at each other in silence, unsure whether to even shake hands. Sometimes, silence is the only thing strong enough to hold every word and feeling in the world Soon, they boarded a bus to go to the Trichy central bus stand. He stood beside her, shy, unsure if he should sit next to her. He kept his eyes on the road, pretending to focus. She looked up. “En da nikkura… sit.” He sat beside her reluctantly. They didn’t speak. But the silence between them — it was full. From somewhere outside, an A.R. Rahman song played faintly on a tea shop radio, “Munbe Vaa… En Anbe Vaa…” It played softly, like it had waited years just for this scene. He was still pretending to look out, when he realised her hands trying to pick at the button on his full-sleeve shirt — the one he had casually rolled up to his wrist. Like she was trying to say something… “Enachu…?” he asked, softly. She didn’t answer. Instead, she suddenly leaned on his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat. Then she whispered: “Solla therila Gowtham… ipadiye irukalamnu thonuthu… aana mudiyumanu therila.” That’s Shrien. She didn’t talk non-stop like Gowtham. But she could make him speechless — with just a few words He decided at that very moment that any battle is worth fighting for those words. His entire life didn’t just change because of those words. His entire life became those words. After that many twists and turns, many struggles and quiet losses they never spoke of to the world — they faced it all together. Holding hands. Leaning on each other’s shoulders. Because அவளும்  நானும் , அலையும் கடலும் Born to be together by this universe. ⸻ Now Years later, She sometimes smiles at the sight of her daughter sleeping on that same shoulder she once leaned on. And somewhere in that smile — just for a second there is a hint of envy. Her mind softly hums those Munbe Vaa lyrics: 🎵Naan saayum thol mel… verarum saaindhaal thaguma…🎵 While beside her, Gowtham smiles at them both and quietly says: “I am the happiest man in the world…” By, Gowtham