The mountains had finally loosened their grip, allowing Gangtok to reveal itself like a living, breathing city. The morning mist clung lightly to the hills, and the terraced rooftops gleamed under the rising sun. The winding roads seemed to invite them down into the city, and for the first time in days, the boys felt a fragile sense of relief.
The Bolero rattled along uneven streets, groaning as if protesting the steep inclines. The driver, quiet and cautious during the forested highways, now allowed a faint smile. "Gangtok," he said softly. "Finally."
Rahul leaned back in his seat, stretching tired limbs. "Feels… normal. Almost like nothing happened," he muttered. But even as he said it, a flicker of unease tugged at his thoughts. Deep, sitting beside him, smiled faintly. "Normal… for now," he said, knowingly. Satyam adjusted his glasses, and Raghav's calm gaze scanned the hills surrounding the city. Something in the mountains had not let go so easily.
They reached a modest guesthouse with faded yellow walls and a small swinging sign. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile, welcomed them warmly. Their room was simple but comfortable—two double beds, clean sheets, and a window overlooking the distant hills. Rahul flopped onto a bed, the relief almost tangible. Deep dropped his bag beside the other bed. Satyam methodically arranged their belongings, while Raghav opened the window, letting a cool breeze sweep away the lingering heaviness of their journey.
After a quick breakfast of steaming momos and sweet chai at a nearby dhaba, the boys set out to explore Gangtok. The city climbed gracefully up the hillside, with streets winding like ribbons and terraces dotted with vibrant shops. Street vendors called out their wares, while the distant hum of traffic and chatter added life to the cityscape.
"First stop—the market," Rahul said, eyes gleaming. Deep grinned, pulling out his wallet. "Adventure begins with bargaining," he said, already eyeing colorful scarves and trinkets.
The market was a riot of colors. Spices stacked in conical heaps, the aroma of saffron, turmeric, and dried herbs filling the air. Handmade jewelry glinted under the sun, while rows of locally woven shawls and blankets tempted their fingers. Rahul and Deep dove into haggling, their voices overlapping with the sellers, while Satyam silently calculated prices and discounts, occasionally interjecting to correct them. Raghav wandered calmly, observing the interactions and occasionally noting peculiar details—the flicker of a shadow in a shop corner, the way the wind carried a faint whisper of something ancient.
They sampled street food—hot corn cobs coated in spices, fried noodles, and small sweet pancakes dusted with sugar. Rahul, ever daring, tried a spicy chili chutney that left his mouth ablaze. Deep laughed uncontrollably, while Satyam fanned Rahul's mouth with his hands. "Welcome to Gangtok's finest culinary test," Deep said, wiping tears from his eyes.
Their next stop was a zipline park perched atop a ridge overlooking the valleys. The guide, a cheerful man with a wide smile, explained safety measures meticulously. The boys suited up, harnesses tight, helmets secure, hearts pounding with anticipation.
Rahul went first. The moment he launched from the platform, the wind tore past him, whipping his hair and the adrenaline surging through his veins. He screamed, half in fear, half in exhilaration, as the valley blurred beneath him. Deep followed, his yells mingling with Rahul's. Satyam hesitated, carefully checking the harness and platform. Finally, he took the plunge, gripping the handle tightly, his rational mind calculating every second of descent. Raghav's turn came last. Unlike the others, he seemed almost serene, sliding down as if gliding over the wind itself, the mountains stretching beneath him like a silent audience.
Once all were done, they gathered at the base, laughing, breathless. "I think my lungs just left me somewhere mid-air," Rahul said, wiping sweat from his brow. Deep clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to freedom," he joked, though the faintest shadow crossed his expression—a reminder that freedom was always temporary.
Evening brought them back to the streets, where the market transformed into a bustling carnival of lights. Strings of fairy lights illuminated the narrow lanes, vendors shouting over the cacophony. The boys wandered through souvenir stalls, tasting local sweets, teasing each other, and occasionally pausing to marvel at handcrafted thangka paintings and prayer flags fluttering in the breeze.
They stopped at a tea stall overlooking a small hill. Steam rose from mugs of hot chai, carrying the smell of cardamom and warmth. An old man sitting nearby struck up a conversation. "You boys from far away?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
"Yes, Delhi," Rahul replied.
"You must visit the Pemayangtse Monastery," the man said. "Old place… more than just a building. Many who go there speak of… feelings. Shadows that watch. The mountains remember."
Deep scoffed lightly. "Shadows that watch?"
The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "You will see. And some who are brave… find they are not."
Raghav's eyes, always sharp, met the man's gaze. The memory of the forest road, the fourth path, the faceless figure, all came rushing back. A chill ran down his spine, though outwardly he remained calm.
Rahul grinned impulsively. "Tomorrow, then. We'll go. No fear."
By nightfall, the boys returned to the guesthouse, tired but satisfied. Dinner was light, laughter shared over plates of steaming thukpa and fried momos. Gangtok felt safe, welcoming, almost ordinary.
But as darkness settled over the city, the guesthouse room seemed to thicken with unseen presence.
It started subtly—a cold draft brushing past them, despite the closed windows. Deep shivered. "AC is off, right?"
"Yeah," Rahul replied, though his voice wavered slightly.
Then came the whisper, faint but unmistakable:
"Rahul…"
He froze. His heart skipped a beat. The others heard it too—an undertone in the sound, almost crawling into the mind rather than the ears.
A soft tap echoed from the corner of the room. Objects shifted ever so slightly, almost teasingly. The shadows stretched unnaturally. Satyam backed into a corner. Deep pressed his palms to his temples, groaning. Raghav remained calm, but his eyes were sharp, alert.
"Why me?" Rahul finally asked, trembling.
Raghav's voice was low, measured. "Because… the mountains decide. You've drawn their attention. And now… they test."
The whispers intensified:
"Only… one… belongs…"
It stopped abruptly, leaving a suffocating silence. The room felt smaller, heavier. The boys clung to each other, breathing rapidly. The memory of the forest, the faceless figure, the fourth path—all had followed them here.
Deep finally spoke. "We… we leave Gangtok. Or face this."
Rahul shook his head. "No. We… we find answers. Tomorrow… the monastery. It might hold the key."
Raghav's calm eyes now carried certainty tinged with dread. "The mountains don't just watch. They decide. And if we're not careful, we will not leave untouched."
Outside, the hills stood silent, bathed in moonlight, indifferent yet omnipresent. And the shadows promised, softly but unmistakably, that tomorrow, at the monastery, their true test would begin.