The soft golden light of dusk draped the mountains of Sikkim in a sacred hush. Glowing like an ember as the sun dipped beyond the hills. It was the kind of evening that carried the scent of pinewood, the rustle of distant prayer flags, and something far more ancient—fate. Wind whispered through pine trees and whistled across the tranquil rooftops of a sleepy village tucked between two rolling hills. Everything about that evening felt oddly serene—too serene—as though nature held its breath in anticipation.
Inside a small cottage nestled at the edge of the forest, Aaryaksh Shail sat on wooden porch sipping a clay cup of steaming coffee. The scent of roasted herbs drifted from his plate of fried rice and snacks, complementing the mist in the air. Aaryaksh was no ordinary villager—he was a seeker. A modern scholar of ancient mysteries. A Professor of Ayurveda and a passionate martial artist, he'd spent the last three years digging through abandoned ashrams, reading torn palm manuscripts, and meditating beneath the Himalayan canopy in pursuit of one goal: rediscovering the secrets of India's forgotten spiritual sciences.
From the beginning of his childhood he was always curious to know about the medicinal herbs and different martial arts, because ancient texts shows that these herb can cure a person's health much quicker and the ancient martial arts strengthens the body along with draining out all the impurities of your body therefore he was here on the village of Sikkim to unravel the mysteries behind it.
It was peaceful here. Maybe too peaceful.
Then came the knock. The postman, panting from the uphill walk, handed over a crumpled telegram—an oddity in the modern age, but still a trusted mode of communication in these remote villages.
Specially when the government or spiritual orders needed secrecy, this method survived.
Aaryaksh broke the seal.
"Mr. Aaryaksh Shail,
We are honoured to invite you as a full-time permanent tutor at the Himalayan Institute of Ancient Martial Arts, Dehradun. Kindly report by this week. Lodging and research grants included."
He blinked, heart tightening slightly.
"Dehradun…?" he murmured.
It was a prestigious invitation. The Himalayan Institute was known among secret circles for training both scholars and spiritual warriors. Legends said it preserved not only the old martial forms but rituals that could elevate human potential. He'd dreamt of entering it once—but dreams were expensive.
His brows lifted. "A permanent position."
His academic curiosity about ancient Ayurveda and martial arts had brought him to these hills, but truth be told, he was running low—on money, on provisions, and perhaps on time. The offer felt like a divine stroke of luck… though in hindsight, he would wonder if it wasn't destiny's trap instead.
So, the choice was made. By the time twilight faded, he packed needed documents in a leather satchel, and he was jogging down the forest trail toward the main road that led to the Sikkim Railway Station. Because due to poor network in the area his only option to buy directly from station. And catching tomorrow morning's train meant securing a ticket this very evening.
Thirty kilo meters stood between him and the ticket counter—and the morning train was at 6:30 a.m. Missing it wasn't an option. The village had no buses after 7 of evening, so hitching a ride or praying for a taxi was his only option.
As he stood by the roadside under a flickering lamppost, mist curling around his feet, his breath clouding the air, he heard the rumble of an engine approaching. He stood in middle of the road.
A dusty yellow taxi screeched to a halt in front of him.
Soon the furious driver stepped out, and Aaryaksh felt the world shift.
Yes she was a lady probably in her mid-twenties, clad in a sleek tan leather jacket over a form-hugging black top, and a beige low rise jeans that perfectly hugged her curves and exposed one-thirds of her creamy, toned legs. Each and every curves in the accurate ratio like someone specially send her from heaven exactly where they should be. With the grace of someone who didn't flaunt but couldn't help turning heads. Her chest rose confidently beneath the soft stretch of her top, the fabric catching slightly around her well-shaped bust with every breath.
Her face was almost surreal—flawless milk-toned skin, high cheekbones, and a pair of hazel eyes that held a silent storm. Her hair was short, curling just below the chin, giving her a youthful boldness. A single black choker hugged her neck like a whisper of rebellion.
Before Aaryaksh could recover from the jolt to his senses, a sweet but angry voice snapped him out of his trance.
"You! Are you blind or what, or so eager for death?" she asked, her voice a smoky drawl—half command, half challenge.
Before Aaryaksh could respond, another voice came from the backseat. "Are we picking up passengers now, Vaidehi? Or just collecting strays?"
This voice—feminine, sharp, and utterly beautiful—came from the back passenger seat. Aaryaksh turned his head and caught sight of her.
And once again time stopped.
The woman lounging in the backseat was something between an aristocrat and a firestorm. Her beauty didn't just draw attention—it demanded surrender. She wore a fitted maroon high floral one piece dress clung to her curves, ended mid-thigh. Her bare legs crossed elegantly, showcasing their flawless sheen under the interior lights.
But it was her face that disarmed him—oval-shaped, luminous skin with the warmth of dusk, wide amber eyes lined with subtle kajal, and lush lips painted deep plum. Around her neck, a delicate gold chain shimmered with a small crescent moon pendant.
"I—uh—Railway station," Aaryaksh stammered, blinking rapidly. "If that's… okay can I get a lift"
The driver—Vaidehi he guessed, upon seeing him this stressed smiled, clearly amused. "That's exactly where we're headed. Hop in."
Still slightly stunned, he climbed into the front seat. The car jerked forward with a low purr, slipping into the empty road that curled along the forest.
"I'm Vaidehi Rastogi," the driver offered casually.
"And the volcano sitting behind you is my best friend"
"I'm Kiyana," she said coolly, extending a hand.
"Kiyana?" Aaryaksh turned, finally meeting her eyes.
She gave him a curt nod. "Kiyana. Not Kiara. Not Kiyara. And definitely not Kitty."
Despite the sharpness in her tone, there was a playful curve at the corner of her mouth.
"Right," Aaryaksh smiled faintly.
"Aaryaksh," he replied, his voice half-choked from the whirlwind of impressions.
Kiyana raised an eyebrow. "Finally you said that without stammering."
"Sorry," he laughed nervously.
"I… didn't expect such a charming taxi driver."
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you driving a taxi?"
The woman chuckled softly. "My father owns this taxi. He's away on a job tonight, and I've got a license and a five-star driving rating. So I figured—why not?"
"And a stunning wardrobe," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Kiyana asked.
"Nothing," he said quickly.
Kiyana rolled her eyes and leaned toward Vaidehi. "I told you not to lift random guys. Now look, we've got an awkward poet with a beard."
"I'm not a poet," Aaryaksh smiled. "Just a seeker."
Vaidehi glanced at him. "A seeker of what?"
"Of everything forgotten," he said quietly, his gaze drifting to the misty horizon.
For a brief moment, neither girl teased him. There was something heavy and mysterious in his tone. A stillness.
The road twisted into the hills. Darkness fell around them. Inside the cab, warm orange light glowed faintly. Raindrops began to splatter on the windshield, their rhythm echoing like soft drums.
Kiyana broke the silence. "You know, Vaidehi, if this guy turns out to be an assassin, I'm blaming you."
Vaidehi giggled. "Then you can haunt me in my next life, darling."
Aaryaksh chuckled. "Do assassins carry books on Charak Samhita?"
"You'd be surprised," Kiyana quipped.
They reached the railway station just before closing.