He turns a corner. The railway station looms larger. A signboard reads LAHORE in four languages. Lines snake from the ticket booth. Passengers congregate, talk in hushed tones. Others wander aimlessly through the growing crowd. A coil of barbed wire separates the Hindu section from the Muslim section on the platform. Amir wears a button-down shirt and slacks, nothing to identify himself as Muslim on what will be a Hindu-filled, India-bound train.

He touches his shirt pocket, traces the outline of the ticket the servant boy purchased for him two days earlier. He weaves through bodies, makes his way to the front. His toes teeter off the lip of the platform. In the distance, a tower of billowing smoke appears. Elbows and knees jostle forward. People call out to one another, scoop up belongings, hoist children onto their hips. The crowd sways forward, fills the empty spaces, thrusts Amir closer to the edge. He extends his arms to maintain balance.

The locomotive roars around the bend. The stench of burning coal fills the air. A bump sends him careening onto the tracks. His head slams into one of the rails. His vision blurs. He slowly raises his head. It feels as if it’s cracked in two.

“Help the boy up,” a woman shouts.

A dozen hands thrust toward him. He scrambles to his feet, grabs a hand, rolls back onto the platform. A few men clap his back.

He touches the back of his head. His fingers moisten. He brings them to his face. They are covered in blood.

An elderly man offers a handkerchief. “Apply pressure,” he says. “You can keep it.”

“Thank you,” Amir says.

The train slows. As it pulls along the platform, before it even comes to a complete stop, the crowd surges forward, fills the doorways, climbs through windows, scales the sides to the roof. Amir is still disoriented from the fall. He hesitates. No matter. A surge carries him into the train car. His feet barely touch the ground.

He finds himself an empty bench, settles in. Within seconds, three others squeeze in on a seat meant for two. He looks out the window. Not even half of the travelers are able to make their way onto the train. He sees a thin, frail woman left behind, the pallu of her sari hanging off her elbow. She brings her hands to her face, cries. She has been separated from someone.