They told me not to leave the airport before 5 AM.

Baggage collection takes time—especially when you’re waiting at the wrong belt.

Initially, it was fine. The crowd came with me, waited alongside me, and then slowly dispersed—without me. That last part was when I started getting a bit concerned.

For 45 minutes, I stood at the baggage collection belt, slightly bent forward under the weight of my heavy, overpacked backpack, extremely sleepy due to my messed-up circadian rhythm—and a conscious decision to watch Dune 2 instead of sleeping. I scrutinized bags as they moved past me with as much intensity as my fogged brain could muster.

When the last of the last bags had been claimed by their owners, I braced myself for days of back-and-forth with the airline, inquiring about my missing baggage. Strangely, I felt a sense of relief—I had deliberately avoided packing anything important in my checked-in luggage. Maybe, for once, my over-preparedness would pay off. Still torn between panic and gratitude, I started scanning the area, eyeing everyone suspiciously.

“Emirates Airline?” a porter asked.

I turned around. “No, Etihad.”

“Belt 2, madam,” he scoffed.

Deep down, I already knew I was at the wrong belt. Even long before the last of the last bags had been claimed.

Earlier that day, when I told my mom that my flight would land in India at 3 AM, she and my elder sister had instructed me not to leave the airport before 5 AM. Two hours.

So, I knew I had two hours to collect my baggage. I also knew I had prepared for the worst—losing my luggage due to an airline error, someone mistaking my bag for theirs, or even someone thinking I had more than they did. And then, I was feeling sleepy too. All of these reasons combined, I chose to ignore my gut feeling.

Belt 2 was empty too. I moved around a bit, and a porter standing nearby pointed at a lone suitcase.

“Is that yours?”

Dark purple, with a red rakhi tied to the handle and random stickers plastered all over it.

“Yes! That’s mine,” I exclaimed, relieved.

I thanked them and left for Terminal 1 to catch a bus.

That part, at least, I knew well. I boarded the bus, laid my check-in baggage on its side, secured safely beside the door and yellow handrails—right in front of my eyes.

With everything finally in place, I pulled out my phone and checked the time.

4:15 AM.

I bought my ticket and found a seat.

I sat there, half-thinking about what to say when my mom would inevitably ask why I got a bus before 5 AM. My mind drifted between thoughts. I dozed off.

I woke up to my mom’s call.

4:57 AM.

And the bus just started.

Sometimes, dozing off really solves the problem. :)

p.s. Other than this small bummer, I carried myself pretty well throughout the whole trip. To be honest, I’m rather impressed with myself! Attached some photos I tried clicking along the way. I could have done a better job with arrangement of attached pictures, maybe some other time.