To Patliputra

I’ve arrived. Patliputra station.

Wait. Weren’t planes supposed to be involved? Yeah, I thought so too. But apparently, only I thought so.

The envelope Mr. Mentor gave me had a picture of a plane on it. Naturally, I assumed it was a plane ticket. I even had this whole mental image of myself gracefully boarding a sleek aircraft, looking all cool and unbothered. Instead, I get...a train ticket.

A train ticket!

Oh, and not just any train. A hyperloop train. Because, of course, why would the world stick to normal, non-stomach-churning transportation?

At the airport, when I handed over the ticket to the attendant, she gave me this look—a mix of pity and barely-contained amusement. "Ma’am, this isn’t a flight ticket. This is for the hyperloop station." She even pointed at the picture like I couldn’t read.

I wanted to disappear right then and there. But no, the embarrassment train doesn’t stop there. My inner monologue decided to pipe up: Good job, Vrishti. Way to show off your brilliance.

As for that old geezer? I can practically hear him laughing somewhere, probably patting himself on the back for “teaching me a lesson.” Oh, he definitely did this on purpose.

The hyperloop ride itself was...an experience. If by “experience,” you mean “being strapped into a metal capsule and shot through a tube at ridiculous speeds.”

I mean, it was fast. Very fast. I barely had time to catch my breath before we were at the next stop. My stomach, however, did not appreciate this technological marvel. If it had a voice, it would be screaming, “Never again!”

Now, let’s talk about the station.

Wow!!!

That's all that comes to my mind when I look around.It looks so simple yet so grand that I can't stop staring all around in all direction. Not as beautiful as the elephant though. (I am not obsessed with the elephant)

Glass walls that seem to stretch endlessly into the sky. Floors that gleam so brightly I can practically see my reflection (and boy, do I look tired). The ceilings are adorned with dynamic LED displays showing routes, ads, and the occasional weather update.

The whole place is lit up with a kind of neon glow that’s both dazzling and headache-inducing.

And then there’s the crowd.

People bustling everywhere, their faces glued to their screens, bumping into each other without a second glance. Robots glide around, carrying luggage or giving directions in soothing, robotic voices. Security drones hover above, their red lights scanning every inch of the station. It’s efficient, sure, but it’s also...creepy.

This is the future, folks. A big, shiny, soulless mess.

I make it through the security check, feeling like a contestant in some dystopian reality show. A scanner flashes across my face, and a cheerful voice announces, “Identity verified. Welcome, Ms. Vrishti!”

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Yay. Lucky me.

When I step outside, my jaw nearly drops.

The city is...magnificent. There’s no other word for it. Towering skyscrapers made of glass and metal dominate the skyline, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of holographic billboards. Hovercars zip through the air in neat, orderly lanes. The streets below are spotless, dotted with perfectly designed greenery that almost looks artificial.

Our little town back home has its charm, sure, but this? This is something else entirely.

But then I notice the people.

It’s the same story. Heads down, necks bent, eyes glued to their devices as they shuffle along like zombies. Robots guide them across intersections, their monotone voices blending into the background noise.

It’s suffocating. The grandeur, the technology, the lifelessness of it all—it’s too much.

I hail a mobile—a self-driving car. After punching in the destination code, the screen flashes the fare. I reluctantly swipe my bracelet to pay.

As the car glides through the city, I try to take in the sights.

For the record, I’m in Patliputra right now. Or at least, what used to be called Patliputra. Thanks to the new WC naming system, cities now have generic words and unique codes instead of actual names.

Apparently, you can use these codes to access all information about a city. And when I say “all,” I mean all. Population, history, crime rates, weather forecasts, restaurant reviews, you name it. The system is efficient, I guess, but it’s also...a little unsettling.

Back home, I’d joke about how our old town names didn’t make sense anymore. But Mr. Mentor is very strict about this.

“The old names had meaning,” he’d said. “They carried the culture, history, and spirit of the place. This new system? It’s garbage.”

For once, I actually agree with him.

The mobile glides smoothly through the streets, finally coming to a halt. I step out, and there it is—Patliputra University.

The gates tower above me, sleek and modern, with holographic text welcoming visitors. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

I hesitate for a moment before pulling out my ID card—the one Mr. Mentor insisted I bring along. I slide it into the slot by the main gate, and a soft beep echoes, followed by a cheerful voice announcing, “Permission granted. Welcome, Ms. Vrishti.”

The massive gates don’t swing open like I expect. Instead, a narrow section of the door bends and contorts, creating a passageway just wide enough for me to walk through.

It’s...weird.

As I step forward, the opening shifts, almost wrapping itself around me as I walk. It adjusts to my every move, its smooth surface nearly brushing against me.

I shudder. This is so creepy. Who designs a door like this?

It feels like the door is checking me out. It's definitely made by a pervert.Yeah I know it doesn't make sense but I say what I say. MY LAF MA RULES. Anyway, quickening my pace to get through as fast as possible.

Before I can even take a proper look at the place, a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Are you Ms. Vrishti?”

I blink and glance around. The voice belongs to a man standing a few feet away, dressed in a sharp uniform with the university’s emblem on his chest.

“Are you talking to me?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.

“Yes,” he says with a polite smile.

“Well, yeah. I’m Vrishti.”

“Ah, so you are,” he says, nodding like he’s confirming something. “You’re here, finally. I’ve been waiting for you. Please, come with me.”

Waiting for me? I think, but before I can ask, he’s already started walking.

I follow him down the corridor, still trying to process everything. The walls are sleek and modern, glowing faintly with a soft blue light that pulses rhythmically. It’s got this futuristic vibe, like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.

But just as I’m starting to take in my surroundings, the floor beneath me shifts.

What the—?

The entire corridor starts moving!

This isn’t like one of those travelators at the airport. No, the whole corridor glides forward smoothly, carrying us along as if we’re on some kind of conveyor belt.

I nearly lose my balance from the sudden motion, flailing my arms to steady myself.

“Woah, woah, woah!” I exclaim, trying not to trip over my own feet.

The man glances back at me, completely unfazed. “Be careful. It can be a bit surprising the first time.”

“A bit?!” I mutter under my breath, clutching my bag tighter as the corridor glides forward.

After what feels like forever (but is probably just a minute), the corridor comes to a gentle stop.

The man gestures toward a large door ahead of us. “This is where you need to go,” he says.

I stare at the door, then back at him. “You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head. “This is as far as I go. You’ll find everything you need inside. Good luck, Ms. Vrishti.”

“Right,” I say, swallowing hard. “Thanks, I guess.”

I step forward, my shoes clicking softly against the polished floor, and push the door open.

The hall is mostly empty, with just a few people sitting here and there.

"HEY, COME HERE" I look towards the source of the sound and it's a old joke playing geezer waving his hands like a baboon.