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At 7:15, a boy ran up to me. He handed me a note. Murugan’s handwriting, but weak, like a spider learning to walk. The note said:

I am Kannamma. And this is my life.”

But always, between the lines, there was Murugan. She never stopped looking for his name in newspapers, in train station graffiti, in the eyes of strangers.

The request arrived at 2:47 AM on a Tuesday.

Tomorrow, I will meet him at the Sundarapuram railway station. Platform number 2. 4 PM.