The plane descended through a quilt of clouds, and Nil pressed his forehead to the window, watching the world unfold beneath him. Assam was alive in ways the city had never been—endless green hills rolled into one another like waves frozen mid-swell, rivers snaking silver ribbons between them, and the rain fell in gentle sheets that blurred everything into a dream.
He stepped out of the airport into the warm, humid air, and it hit him all at once—the smell of wet earth, tea leaves, and something older, something untamed that seemed to seep into his bones. The streets were narrower than he expected, lined with small shops, motorbikes buzzing like persistent insects, and the occasional cow grazing without concern. He felt, for the first time in months, that he belonged nowhere—and yet everywhere.
A taxi driver with a wide-brimmed hat and a cautious smile took his suitcase and guided him through winding roads. The driver spoke little English, but his gestures were enough. Every turn brought Nil deeper into the hills, deeper into the green silence of the monsoon-soaked landscape.
Finally, they arrived at a small homestay tucked behind bamboo groves, its whitewashed walls streaked with moss and rainwater. A wooden sign swung gently above the gate: "Roshni Homestay". It seemed ordinary, but something in the way the wind rustled the bamboo, or the way the house leaned slightly toward the river, whispered to him that this place held secrets.
He rang the bell. Moments later, she appeared.
Roshni.
She was smaller than he expected, almost fragile, but her presence filled the space with a quiet gravity. Her dark eyes regarded him carefully, as if measuring his intentions, and then she smiled—not the easy, polite smile of a stranger, but a reserved, guarded smile that made him feel both welcomed and watched at once.
"Welcome," she said, her voice soft, melodic, like water running over stones. "You must be Nil."
"Yes," he said, and somehow his own voice sounded foreign in this new air. "I… I hope it's okay that I came without much notice."
She gestured toward the house. "It is quiet here. You will find your peace, I think."
Nil's suitcase was taken to a room overlooking the river. From the balcony, he saw the water churning gray beneath the rain, mist rising like smoke, and the hills looming on the horizon like ancient, indifferent gods.
As he unpacked, he felt a flutter of excitement—and unease. There was something about this place, about her, that pulled at the corners of his mind. And though he didn't yet understand why, he knew this was where his story would begin.