Life had never been kind to him.
From childhood, it started with studies.
You could've done better.
Why aren't you like him?
Back then, marks decided his value.
As he grew older, the questions changed—but the pressure didn't.
In youth came responsibilities: house, job, relatives, neighbors.
Every conversation felt like a silent evaluation.
Why haven't you settled yet?
Is this all you earn?
What's your plan for the future?
Balancing work and home became exhausting.
Some days, even breathing felt like something he had to justify.
That evening, after returning from work, he stood outside his house longer than usual.
The door was right there—
but he didn't want to go in.
His chest felt heavy.
His mind felt empty.
That was when he decided—
he needed a break.
Not to escape forever.
Just enough to remember what peace felt like.
He took out his phone and started calling his friends.
"Let's go on a holiday," he said.
"Just for a few days."
One by one, the answers came.
"I'm busy."
"Office work."
"Maybe next time."
After the last call disconnected, he didn't feel angry.
He felt… expected.
"I'll go alone," he whispered.
For the first time, that thought didn't scare him.
He packed a small bag and left the house without telling anyone.
No explanations.
No permissions.
A few streets ahead, he noticed lights, music, laughter.
He slowed down.
His friends—drinks in hand, jokes flying, a party in full swing.
He instinctively stepped aside, hiding behind a parked vehicle, watching from the shadows—
like a stranger looking into a life he was never meant to belong to.
One of them laughed.
"Remember him? Always stressed, always serious."
Another added,
"Yeah. Born loser vibes."
They laughed.
Something cracked inside his chest.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly—
like something fragile finally giving up.
He turned away and walked faster.
No confrontation.
No tears.
Only distance.
By the time he reached the railway station, the city noise had faded into a dull hum.
He sat on a bench, staring at the floor.
"Where do I even go?" he thought.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated.
The screen filled with images—
snow-covered peaks, endless skies, silent mountains.
The Himalayas.
Below the images was a single line of text:
"Find this mountain."
He stared at the screen.
Strangely, he didn't question where the image came from.
He didn't wonder who sent it or why.
All he felt was excitement—pure, uncontrollable excitement.
His heart felt light.
Alive.
Without thinking twice, he booked a ticket to a small Himalayan village—Malari.
For the first time in years, he wasn't overplanning.
No stress.
No fear.
Just movement.
During the journey, he watched videos about the mountains, the culture, the people.
He imagined silence, cold air, and a life untouched by expectations.
His plan was simple.
First, reach Malari.
Understand the culture.
Connect with the locals.
Learn how to go deeper into the mountains—
what paths existed, what supplies were mandatory, what rules couldn't be broken.
Only then would he move forward.
The train cut through beautiful valleys and winding rivers.
Green slowly turned into rugged terrain.
Finally, he reached Rishikesh, the last major stop.
As he stepped out, reality hit.
There was no proper transportation toward Malari.
No buses.
No shared rides.
People warned him.
"Roads ahead are risky."
"Weather changes fast."
"You shouldn't go alone."
He listened—
and ignored all of it.
Without thinking too much, he started walking.
One step after another.
Lost in his thoughts, unaware of his surroundings, unaware of how far he had already gone.
Then—
A voice broke the silence.
"Where are you going, traveler?"
He stopped.
Slowly turned around.