A borrowed car. A cracked windshield. And three young dreamers in the front seat — Noor driving, Maliha navigating, and Ali gazing out the window with headphones in. The road snaked away from the city, leaving behind the grey and dust, and curling upward toward pine-covered silence.
They weren't just going to the mountains.
They were looking for something — a place not found on any map.
The Journey
It had been Noor's idea.
"We need to see it," she had said. "We talk about a house, about escape, about a home for art and hope… but what does that even look like?"
So they packed:
A borrowed DSLR from Noor's cousin
A thermos of chai from Maliha's mother
And a toolkit Ali refused to leave behind
They took turns driving. They played old Sufi songs and silent moments in equal measure.
Maliha jotted poetry in a worn-out journal.
Ali scribbled measurements and sketches in his engineering notebook.
Noor just watched — mountains, clouds, conversations.
The Search
For three days, they visited villages.
Some houses were too expensive.
Some too broken.
Some too close to tourist traffic.
Some just didn't feel right.
"What are we even looking for?" Ali sighed one evening, sitting by a bonfire outside a guesthouse.
Noor said quietly, "Something we haven't seen before. But we'll know when we see it."
Maliha added, "Or… when we feel it."
The Discovery
On the fourth morning, it happened by accident.
They had taken a wrong turn — the map had no roads that high up. A local shepherd redirected them toward an abandoned cottage at the edge of a cliff.
When they reached, it was almost ruined.
Stone walls, half-collapsed.
No roof. No windows. Just a shell.
But when they walked inside… it was silent in a different way. Sacred. Wind passed through the empty doorways like music. The view opened into a deep green valley below. Birds flew freely. The air was clear — and oddly familiar.
Ali was the first to speak.
"This... could be it."
They sat on the edge of the broken wall.
Noor took a photo.
Maliha just closed her eyes.
Ali pressed his hand against the cold stone.
They didn't sign any papers.
They didn't even have full money yet.
But they made a pact — not with ink, but with heart.
> "If we build it, it will belong not just to us —
But to everyone who needs to remember how to dream."