"A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving."

 – Lao Tzu

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We had been planning this trip since high school. 

Me, Axel and Jenna – the three of us, huddled in the back bench, as our teacher went on and on about Gandhi and the salt satyagraha. We would catch the Ganpati Special at 1:15 in the morning, straight to Goa, and frolic around the beaches, humming Bob Marley songs. Then, we would hop on an AirAsia and fly out to Manali, because Jenna loved the snow. Trekking came next, we would tackle the Hampta Pass – Axel is bit of a wuss, he'd faint at the sight of the Everest – and we would yell our names from atop the highest peaks we could find. Then, it's another AirAsia from Leh to Delhi, and direct to Thailand. We would bum around the Phi Phi islands and pray at the Emerald Buddha, because I was raised a devout Buddhist. We would frolic the old streets of Ayyutaya, eating Pad Thais till our tummies were full – who can say no to food, anyway?

We even had the European and African legs of our tour mapped and planned and numbers of cheap hotels dug up from yellow pages.

But our plans just stayed scribbled on the back of Jenna's math notebook.

The first time we fixed to go was the last day of the 12th grade examination. Axel and I were on our bikes, waiting patiently at Jenna's doorstep at 12:30 in the morning, when her mother ran outside, chappal in hand, threatening to beat us to death if we didn't leave her daughter alone.

Realizing that Jenna's parents would never allow her to go on a touring spree with two boys, we decided to have her run off in the middle of the night. That plan failed when Jenna broke her leg while climbing over the six foot wall surrounding her monstrosity of a house.

When her leg healed, Jenna was shipped to an entrance coaching institute, Axel got accepted at an engineering institute in Chennai, and I decided to take over my father's workshop. The three of us spent years toiling at different parts of India, connected every weekend by a thirty minute Skype call and a heart full of dreams.

Years went on. Jenna Matthews became Dr. Jenna Matthews, Axel Gregory the MD of a software firm, and my local workshop had expanded. But we were still planning, our plans upgrading as our income grew larger in numbers. But our schedules still clashed. Our plans were always on hold.

Until Jenna's parents fixed her marriage.

'It's now or never, guys.' She says, her face blurry through the video chat. 'Tomorrow, we catch that train to Goa.'

Axel and I voice our assent. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we catch that train. Tomorrow, we follow our dreams.

'Pack sweaters, Axel.' Jenna reminds. Axel had this tendency to forget. He forgets even the most miniscule things, like the time he forgot his hall ticket for an exam. 'Don't forget your passport, man.' I run fingers through my hair, watching him run around grabbing his stuff through the video call. 'Don't forget your wallet and your bags. Don't forget your gloves and goggles. The train leaves at 1:15.'

We go to sleep, feeling every bit the teenagers we once were. We were excited beyond measure – we were going on the trip we so meticulously planned all those years ago. Everything was different; everything is going to be even more different when Jenna gets married. But this – this feeling – feels familiar.

1:05 am.

'Where is he?' Jenna asks, helplessly tugging at her backpack. I had arrived precisely half an hour ago, and Jenna followed ten minutes later. I try Axel's mobile. It rings to voicemail.

1:10 am.

'He's not picking up.' I glance at my wristwatch. Where the hell is Axel?

1:15 am.

'No, no, no, no.' Jenna runs behind the train as it moves out of the station, gaining speed. It races away from us, leaving the two of us and our old, teenage fantasies in the wind.

1:35 am.

Me and Jenna sit on the wooden bench at the station. Jenna has her head in her palms. I think she is crying. My phone rings.

Axel.

'Dude. I forgot to set the alarm.'

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