The train slowly left the station,
carrying not just passengers,
but a family full of laughter, luggage, and love.
Mother held homemade food tightly,
afraid it might spill.
Father looked out the window,
pretending not to worry about tickets and time.
The children pressed their faces to the glass,
counting trees, rivers, and strangers waving goodbye.
They shared food,
shared stories,
and shared silence when everyone felt sleepy.
The train was noisy, crowded, imperfect—
just like life.
But in that small compartment,
between tea cups and tired smiles,
they realized something simple:
The destination mattered less
because the family was together.
And that made the journey beautiful.
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