The Aisle of Valyria

Dear stranger, By the time you read this, I will be long gone. Gone, not with the wind, but with the fear of oblivion. I am not shedding tears as I use a pen for the last time. I am shedding blood. Blood that flows free, from the wound that my heart has borne all this while. I am a living corpse of shame. Shame that shrouds like skin, refusing to wear off. The mountains of Leh can’t dilute my sorrow. It was February the 8 th , a year before. The hues of sunset filtering through the glass panes that line the walls adjoining the staircases, failed to enchant me as I walked down. I was dazed and disoriented, for the schedule at my new college had started weighing down on me. Books in my hand, and music filled my ears. I saw a boy of my age, with spectacles like Potter’s, nose-deep in a book sitting on the bench. His face was obscured by the cover of the book, probably a Sheldon. Through the glasses, and over the book edge, he returned my gaze, as our eyes met for the first time....

It was a cold noon, with the sun’s rays not shining through the leaves and cascading onto the staircase that flanked my room. My phone screen on the side desk blared up. ‘On a vacation trying to escape the harsh realities of life?’ was what she had asked. Not my girlfriend. But my girl. The girl who had been, through the ebbs and tides of time. The soft duvet swooned me, trying to lull me back into sleep. Getting up, I walk in a half-asleep trance onto the door, adjacent to the balcony. As I unlatched the door, a reinvigorating gust hit me hard on my face. I didn’t feel the gust, I simply melted into it, just like butter on barbeque. What met my eyes, was an absolute panorama of beauty, encased in serenity. Rain had lashed down some moments back, infusing that green look to whatever seemed lifeless and barren, until now. I was holidaying in Manali, the Switzerland of India. Rightly so, for the scene in front of me was breathtaking. An inn of two storeys, was my refuge. Standing in ...