Sanvi's friends picked her up from the finish point, and Talha met me there as well, hiding behind a cigarette cabin. Together, we headed back to PC Bhurban. It was around 8 p.m., and my mind was a tangled web of thoughts. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed, keeping phone in hand and looking at selfie where she was very close, unable to shake off the memory of her gripping my hand so firmly during the snake episode. That moment lingered in my mind like an unanswered question. But no thought could hold me for long; sleep claimed me quickly.
At 5 a.m., my eyes fluttered open. Sleeping so early had left me well- rested but restless. I changed into my tracksuit and stepped out for a walk, seeking solace in the crisp morning air. I wandered toward the outskirts of PC Bhurban, exploring the hiking trail nestled within the hotel grounds
The serene hills of Bhurbhan bathed in the first light of dawn, painting the sky with hues of amber and lilac. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. As I walked along the trail inside PC Bhurbhan, the events of the previous day swirled in my mind like a restless tide. Sanvi, her voice, her presence, and that brief, unexplained connection—everything seemed surreal.
I hadn’t expected to find her here at this hour. At the helipad, she looked serene, a picture of calm against the backdrop of the vast sky. Her yoga session was like poetry in motion—graceful, effortless. But I hesitated to approach her. Something about the moment felt too delicate to disturb.
I turned to leave, only to hear her voice call out. "Musavir!" It was unmistakable. Her tone carried warmth and familiarity, and it drew me back like a magnet.
She walked up to me, her expression light and cheerful. "Good morning!" she greeted, her smile almost disarming. We fell into step together, her presence brightening the stillness of the morning. As we walked, she asked me about my life—my native town, my posting, and my marital status. Her curiosity felt natural, not intrusive, and I found myself answering her questions with surprising ease.
When we reached the hotel, she suggested we have breakfast together. I agreed, trying not to overthink the meaning behind her invitation. At Nadia’s restaurant, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread filled the air. We talked between sips and bites, her laughter punctuating our conversation. For a moment, I forgot the world outside the cozy confines of that breakfast table.
Afterward, we walked back to our rooms in comfortable silence. Outside her door, I bade her goodbye, addressing her formally as “ma’am.” Her response was immediate, almost playful. "Musavir," she called out again just as the door was about to close. "Call me only Sanvi again."
Her words hung in the air, soft but firm, as though they carried a deeper meaning. I nodded, struggling to decipher her gaze, but her eyes were like a puzzle I wasn’t yet ready to solve.
She smiled, the door closing behind her, leaving me standing in the quiet hallway. For the first time in a long while, I felt a strange mix of hope and uncertainty. It was as if the day, much like her, had offered me something profound yet undefined—a possibility, perhaps, or a beginning.