Philipose boards a crowded third-class sleeper in Madras with two trunks of books and a radio. In his cubicle are a large woman in a yellow sari (Meena) with baby and husband, a taciturn Brahmin, an excitable rail enthusiast, Arjun-Kumar-Railways, and a self-possessed young woman in dark glasses and a scarf. Arjun’s engraved snuffbox becomes a conversation piece; “Young Miss” playfully engages, and she and Philipose join Arjun in trying snuff, their shared sneezes melting the initial frost among strangers.

As night falls, food and card games circulate, dissolving class boundaries. Meena confides she eloped with her cousin after an unconsummated marriage; the anonymity of travel invites candor. Prompted by Young Miss’s admission she has “run away” from college, Philipose reveals he has left MCC because of worsening hearing, but insists he will learn through books and a radio. They connect over literature, quoting Dickens, yet Philipose, tongue-tied, fails to ask her name before she climbs to her berth. He writes in his journal, both abashed and exhilarated by their exchange.

At dawn, the Kerala landscape floods Philipose with belonging and resolve. Arjun marvels that strangers of all faiths can “all get along” on a train and wonders why not outside. In Cochin’s bustle, Young Miss silently returns a sheet that fell from Philipose’s notebook and departs with a brief smile. Only on the bus to Changanacherry does Philipose discover an added page: her deft portrait of him asleep, inscribed, “Bent and broken, but in better shape. Good luck. Always, E.”

The signature and the artistry trigger recognition: she is Elsie, Chandy Thetanatt’s daughter who once sketched him as a boy. Aware of the gulf between their families, Philipose nevertheless vows to make a name for himself, continue his self-education, and, when worthy, seek a formal alliance. He whispers a plea that she wait, drawing bemused looks from fellow passengers, but his new determination holds.