A foggy dream

“Will you go to the mountains with me?”

Our sleepy bodies sway as the bus makes it way up the windy road. The temperatures falls. We take out the blanket. You take my cold hands into yours.

We trek up a hill. It’s been 2 hours. I argue we are lost. You say we should trust the mountain dog that’s leading the way. I reluctantly give in.

Guess what? You were right! We finally find a tiny homestay nestled at the edge of the hill. Aunty shows us our room. We are the only one there. Off-season, she tells us. The room has a heater older than us and a window so large, we can see the whole valley from our bed.

I call dibs on the right side of the bed. So that when the ghost comes in through the window, it’ll eat you first. Obviously.

I wake up early and go on walks. You make sure we’ve fluffy pancakes and maple syrup by the time I return. Extra maple syrup for me. Always.

I put the fresh flowers that I picked, in this mason jar which I declare will be our vase for the month.

You listen to that podcast on cryptocurrency. I rest my head on your lap and read my book.

Some afternoons we hike in search of waterfalls. We jump into the ice cold water. The mountain dogs accompanying us jump in too.

We return to our room as the sun sets, shivering and happy. Aunty had already made coffee for you and tea for me.

That’s the thing I Ioved about us. You were a splitting image of me. Yet we had such different tastes. The coffee boy fell in love with the tea girl. And they existed in pure harmony.

Next day you go play football with the village boys. I will write a poem by the time you return, I declare.

You return at dusk. I am asleep. My journal is sleeping next to me. The poem just has 2 lines.

Some nights are too cold. We don’t leave the room. We play scrabble. And chess. I refuse to accept you actually play better than me so I now refuse to EVER play anything. You give me the bigger piece of the brownie that night. I eat it and keep a bit for you. I know how much you love walnut brownie.

Aunty loves us. She hopes we stay longer. But our lives are waiting for us in our city. The three of us set up a campfire that night. We have s’mores and aunty shares stories of her youth.

It’s dawn. I am crying. You wake up. You are horrified. Was it a bad dream? No, I tell you. Today is our last day here, I’ll miss this. You pull me closer.

That afternoon we don’t go anywhere. We sit in that one corner of the balcony where the sun hits. That was our spot. We spent a month there. You doing your thing. Me doing mine. But never apart. We take an extra slow evening walk. We say bye to every tree and every pup.The boys make you sign their football. They will miss you they say. I see you tear up.

The bags are packed. We wave one last goodbye to the mountains.

“So tell me, will you go to the mountains with me?”

I want to ask you. But I don’t.