The first light of dawn crept into our small inn room in Chitral, slicing through the curtains and landing on a chaotic heap of blankets—and an equally chaotic heap of unwilling travelers. Everyone was still asleep except Diljeet. Fully dressed, already alert, and calmly sipping tea, he looked like he had been awake for hours.
He clapped his hands once. “Get up. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”
I pulled the blanket over my head. “Five more minutes…”
That “five minutes” turned into half an hour. By the time we finally made it outside, the town had already come alive. The crisp mountain air greeted us sharply, carrying the scent of pine, smoke, and freshly cooked food drifting from nearby stalls. Chimneys released thin trails of smoke that twisted into the sky, and vendors filled the streets with calls that echoed between the buildings. The sound of hooves on stone pathways added a steady rhythm to the morning rush.
We stopped at a small tea house tucked into a narrow lane. It was simple, wooden, and warm inside, with a swinging sign and a welcoming glow. The owner—a sturdy man with a thick beard and a surprisingly cheerful expression—served us hot chai along with plates of halwa puri that melted the moment they touched the tongue. Steam rose from the cups, wrapping around our hands like warmth we didn’t know we needed.
Peter leaned back, satisfied. “Honestly… this might be the real expedition.”
Amit laughed mid-bite. “So all the ghosts and cursed valleys are just bonus content?”
After breakfast, we explored the local bazaar. The narrow lanes were packed with color—wool caps, carved wooden items, gemstones, embroidered shawls, and rows of dried fruits glowing under the morning sun. Children weaved through the crowd, laughing, pushing small carts, and disappearing between stalls like quick shadows.
Amit, of course, found a stall selling traditional Chitrali caps and immediately started negotiating with exaggerated seriousness, posing as if he were royalty from the mountains.
Abdul shook his head. “That crown won’t help you when we reach Kailash.”
Peter smirked. “Relax. I’ve got confidence and a flashlight. Practically unbeatable.”
We were still laughing when an old man appeared in front of us.
He moved slowly, wrapped in worn clothing, his face lined with age. But what caught my attention wasn’t his appearance—it was his eyes. Pale, almost faded, yet unsettlingly aware. It felt like he wasn’t just looking at us… but through us.
“You are going further north,” he said calmly.
Not a question. A certainty.
The laughter faded slightly. I answered carefully, “Yes.”
He nodded once, as if confirming something he already knew. “The road ahead to Kailash is open… for now. But the higher you go, the more the mountains remember.”
Amit tilted his head. “Remember? What exactly does that mean?”
The old man gave a faint, unreadable smile. “Mountains do not forget what happens on them.” Then he turned away and disappeared into the moving crowd as though he had never stopped at all.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The noise of the bazaar seemed distant, muted, as if the world had briefly narrowed to those words alone. Even the mountains in the distance felt heavier, watching quietly from beyond the town.
Peter finally broke the silence with a nervous chuckle. “If the mountains start holding grudges, I’m officially moving to the beach.”
Amit smirked. “Good luck negotiating with angry ghosts in sunscreen.”
I exhaled slowly. “That man wasn’t joking. There was something real in what he said.”
Abdul adjusted his scarf. “And whatever it is, it won’t wait for us to feel ready.”
The rest of the day passed in preparation. We gathered supplies—thick jackets, boots built for snow, ropes, food, water, and everything we thought might keep us steady in the higher terrain. Strangely, most shopkeepers didn’t ask questions. Some simply nodded when they heard where we were headed, as if they already understood the risks better than we did.
By evening, we found ourselves on a rooftop overlooking the valley. The sun sank behind the mountains, turning the sky into layers of deep orange, purple, and fading gold. Smoke rose from the town below, drifting upward in slow spirals. Somewhere far off, a goat called out, its sound swallowed quickly by the vast silence of the peaks.
We sat together in a loose circle, legs hanging over the edge, the cold creeping through our clothes.
Peter glanced upward. “Do you think he meant ghosts? Or something worse?”
Diljeet didn’t look away from the mountains. “Does it matter? Something is up there. And tomorrow, we find out what.”
Amit stretched his arms. “As long as it doesn’t interrupt breakfast, I’m fine with anything.”
Despite everything—the warnings, the strange encounter, the growing unease—we still found ways to laugh. It wasn’t denial. It was how we stayed steady.
But as night settled in, the mood shifted. Lights flickered on across Chitral, and the valley slowly dimmed into darkness. The mountains loomed above us, silent and immense, as if they had been waiting far longer than we had arrived. Stars appeared one by one, sharp and cold, scattered across a sky that felt endless.
The air grew colder. Heavier.
Abdul finally spoke, quieter than before. “Tomorrow, we step into whatever lies beyond that treeline.”
“Or whatever is waiting for us there,” I added.
Peter stretched again, forcing a grin. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s punctual. I hate waiting around for hauntings.”
Amit laughed softly. “You say that now.”
We stayed there a while longer, wrapped in jackets, chai cups warming our hands, laughter fading in and out like the wind. Below us, the town settled into sleep. Above us, the mountains remained awake.
Silent.
Patient.
Unmoving.
And somehow, unmistakably aware.
Tomorrow would be different.
Because beyond Chitral, beyond the last signs of comfort, the real journey was waiting—and whatever the old man had warned us about was no longer just a story.
It was close enough to find us.
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.34Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzlq9yfPZuJ
and then Add to home screen.