As I sip my steaming chai, warmth seeps into my fingers, reminding me of the last time I held a clay cup like this. Then, the night had been crisp, the fire crackling, and beyond its flickering glow, a pair of luminous eyes watched me from the dark. A tendril of fear mixed with something hotter curls down my spine at the memory, and I still can’t help but wonder, who—or what—did they belong to?
Part of me hopes to see them again. The other part knows Ican’t afford the distraction. Winter is closing in fast, and once the snows settle in, my search will be over. I don’t even know when the plant will reemerge—early spring? Late summer? Next year? But I’m running out of time.
At least I’d had the foresight to keep Ben away from the small savings my mother had tucked away for me. After she died, I’d been blindsided to learn she had somehow managed to set aside a little nest egg—scraped together, no doubt, from the things she denied herself.
The discovery had been a gut punch. All those years I’d complained about secondhand clothes and off-brand sneakers, never realizing what it must have cost her to make sure I had even that.
Every Christmas, there were presents under the tree—even when I knew money was tight. But I can’t remember a single time she bought something nice for herself. She must have made so many quiet sacrifices—things she went without, needs she pushed aside—all so I’d have something to fall back on.
And now, I have no choice but to use it.
I’ve missed her every day since she’s been gone—but never have I wished she was here more than in this moment. I can’t help but wonder what it was like for her to also know her time was running out and wish for her guidance. Ask her all the questions I didn’t think to ask when I was caught up in the business of caring for her, and the horror of watching her die from a disease that had no treatment. No cure.
Although I cannot turn to her, I hope I can still depend on Sita, my guide turned friend. I need her help not just to help navigate, translate, and smooth the way, but because I can’t face this final summit for survival alone.
We load back into the jeep, and I force my thoughts away from my fears. Instead, I manifest success. I picture myself trekking through the rugged terrain, scanning for the heartshaped leaves and small iridescent flowers, their delicate shimmer nearly lost in the vastness of the mountains.
A ray of watery sunlight pierces the winter sky, glinting off something just ahead—just like in the attic back home. My breath catches as I rush forward, heart pounding. I drop to my knees, hands trembling as I cradle the fragile blossom, the culmination of everything I’ve been searching for. Its luminescent blue-violet matches my own unusual eye color, another gift from my mother.
Somewhere in the distance, an engine rumbles, creeping into the edges of my awareness like a half-formed thought. The sound feels out of place in this serene place, splintering the dream as the jeep jolts to a stop.
My head snaps up, disoriented, my heart still racing like I had actually been kneeling there at my discovery. The vision dissolves, fading like a fogged breath in the cold morning air. I blink against the sudden shift in reality, realizing that I must have drifted off—stress and back-to-back travel finally catching up with me despite the rough roads.
With a groan, I stretch and climb out of the jeep, my muscles stiff from the long, winding journey. The crisp mountain air bites at my skin, but despite the ache in my body, something inside me feels lighter. It almost feels like coming home.
Only a few days have passed since I stood in this very spot, waving goodbye to this little guesthouse. But it feels like a lifetime ago—a different world, a different woman. I’ve returned back to Migdhari, but I am forever changed.
I follow the familiar worn path to the main lobby, the bells above the door tinkling softly as a wave of incense curls around me in greeting. The owner looks up, his mouth falling open in surprise before his expression melts into a warm smile, deepening the weathered lines on his face.
“Dahlia-ji! I thought you had returned home.” Tenzig hurriesover and presses his hands together with a slight bow. “Namaste.”
“Namaste,” I reply, mirroring the gesture. A sad smile tugs at my lips. “I did.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods as if he understands something I don’t yet have words for.
“The mountains have called you back,” he says simply. “So, you must answer.”
There’s no judgment in his tone. No question, no expectation. Just an acceptance I hadn’t realized I needed. As if flying half way around the globe and back is the most normal thing in the world.
“You are tired,” he continues, already turning toward the hallway. “Come, come. I will show you to your room.”
I follow him, grateful for the kindness. His hospitality is a balm to my raw, aching heart. When he opens the door to my room, a wave of relief washes over me. It’s the same one I stayed in before and nothing has changed. It is a simple space with a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk. Modest. Practical. But as I step inside, I realize it feels more like home than the house I so hastily abandoned.
“Come to the lounge when you are ready for tea,” he says before departing.
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 knowswhat 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.
