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She and I commuted by the same train every morning. She had a pretty face, wavy hair and pearly whites. I loved her dressing sense, mandarin collared kurtas always. We never spoke but often complemented each other with gestures.

I was on vacation when our morning train faced a bomb attack. I often wondered if she too survived the attack. Soon, her photo was published in newspapers as a suspected terrorist.

Years later, I spotted her at a foreign airport. Looking stylish in a suit, she smiled and vanished instantly to become a face in the crowd.