Chapter Eight #2
I take my time unpacking, placing each item carefully, as if this is more than a temporary stop in a sea of uncertainty. Then I sink onto the bed, gaze drifting to the window, where the river glimmers in the fading light.
Last time, at Sita’s insistence, I had searched only this side of the water. But now, my eyes keep straying to the dense line of trees on the far bank. There’s something about them—something vast and unknowable—that calls to me from their shadowy depths.
A beckoning. A challenge or a promise, I don’t know. But this time, I intend to answer. If the Migoi is real, who knows what else those forests are hiding? Tomorrow, I’ll ask Sita if she can guide me again—this time, I’ll insist on crossing the river.
Tonight, though, even as exhaustion tugs at me, I bypass the comfort of my waiting bed and head to the lounge to meet Tenzig and the promised chai.
I slip outside, following the narrow path. No matter how tightly I pull my coat around me, the wind still finds a way in, threading icy fingers beneath my hood and along the hem of my parka. Even this short walk confirms it—winter isn’t just creeping in. It’s arrived.
The moment I step into the lounge, warmth envelops me, chasing the chill from my bones. I sink into a seat by the fireplace, stretching my hands toward the flames.
Tenzig settles across from me, silent and steady as ever, and passes me a small steaming cup of chai.
I wrap my fingers around it, letting the heat seep in. Sitting next to the fire, sipping the sweet tea of the mountains, I feel a tiny crack form in the permafrost encasing my heart. Coming here was the right decision.
At last, I break the comfortable silence. “Tenzig, do you know if Sita is available to guide me again? I really trust her.”
His gaze, which had drifted to me while I spoke, slides back to the fire.
For a moment, his face is unreadable, the firelight carving deep shadows into his features.
“I believe so,” he says finally. “She will be here in the morning. You can discuss your plans with her then.” A pause. “You have come back for the plant?”
I nod, eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Although his words both earlier and now acknowledge my search for the plant, his tone almost hints that he knows it isn’t just the plant drawing me back.
The memory of the eyes I saw beyond the firepit is stronger than ever now, a ghost pressing against the edges of my mind. The sensation is so vivid, so tangible, that for a split second, I swear I can feel it again—a gaze, distant yet piercing, sliding over my skin.
Watching.
Waiting.
A trickle of unease should creep down my spine at not just the thought but the absolute intuition of being watched. Instead, something warmer slides through me—like a lover’s touch, slow and certain. It curls low in my belly, a pulse of warmth that has no business being there right now.
This is the kind of gaze that promises not just warmth, but visceral heat. Possession. Something primal and all-consuming like a wildfire.
But that’s ridiculous. I’m safely tucked away inside. .
And yet—
The unexpected desire that pools in my stomach is a stark reminder of just how long it’s been—not just since I’ve had sex, but since I’ve had intimacy.
A real connection. Back when Ben and I first got together, our sex life had been what I assumed most people had—good enough, slotted into the rare moments when our schedules allowed.
But then, little by little, something shifted. Every attempt I made to bring us closer, to spark something deeper, was met with dismissal. So, I stopped trying.
We were already slipping into a pattern of less and less, and I didn’t want to rock the boat. And when we did happen to connect physically, it was mechanical—going through the motions, his mind elsewhere.
Now, I know where. It wasn’t just the sex, nor even the passion slipping away, but the intimacy. The knowing of another’s soul.
The thought of him whispering filthy promises to someone else—offering her the passion he withheld from me—sends a hot rush of anger to my cheeks.
I deserve more. Better. I deserve someone who won’t just tolerate my desires but will ignite them. Someone who will meet me fully—mind, body, and soul. Not that I expect to find that here, high in the Himalayan mountains.
But maybe—once I locate the plant, make it back home, extract its medicinal properties, save my life, write my paper, and defend my dissertation if I have a university to go back to—then, just maybe, I can think about building a healthier relationship.
One built on passion and partnership, not convenience and compromise.
Who was I kidding? That was a lifetime away, hanging on a thousand ifs—if I found the plant, if I lived long enough to turn it into a cure, if I somehow found someone who actually saw me. Yeah. Totally realistic odds.
A voice saying my name pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. I blink, realizing Tenzig has been calling me—probably more than once.
“I’m sorry, it’s been such a long day,” I say, rubbing my temples.
He just gives me a kind smile, his eyes full of understanding. “Rest, Dahlia-ji. The mountains will still be standing here tomorrow, just as they have for millions of years.”
I nod, murmuring my thanks before standing. The warmth of the fire clings to me as I step outside, but the cold is waiting. It slips beneath my coat, winding around me, sharp and unrelenting. Tearing away any heat or comfort with its scrabbling skeletal fingers.
I pull my parka tighter and walk faster, my boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. My breath curls in front of me, vanishing into the night. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of everything I’m up against pressing down on me with suffocating weight.
I was so sure when I left. So certain I was meant to come back here and continue my search.
But now, standing on the edge of what could either be an amazing discovery or abject failure, doubt creeps in, quiet but persistent.
I am one woman. A PhD student attempting her own research with no resources now. The odds aren’t in my favor.
They never were.
I shove the thoughts aside and focus on my feet.
One step. Then another. Just keep moving.
By the time I reach my room, doubt and exhaustion are bone deep.
I barely manage to kick off my shoes before collapsing onto the mattress, dragging the heavy quilt over me.
The moment my head hits the pillow, the tension in my body finally gives way.
Sleep claims me before I can worry about tomorrow. Whatever waits—whether it’s the plant, the truth, or something I can’t yet name—will come soon enough. But tonight, exhaustion wins.