Coming Back
The air outside the airport terminal was a dazzling spectacle of heat and motion. Thick with the scent of jet fuel and blossoming jasmine, the atmosphere hummed with a joyful, chaotic symphony. The concrete lot thrummed with the energy of arrivals and departures: a symphony of rumbling taxi engines, the sharp chirp of horns, and the cheerful din of passengers. The sun, a bright, unrelenting disk, cast a harsh, brilliant light on the beige concrete, making the entire scene feel charged and electric.
Standing just beyond the curb was a 20 year-old young woman who seemed to carry her own clear light. Inaya Rawat wore a simple blue jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, contrasting gently with the warmth of her naturally olive-toned skin. Her most arresting feature was her hair: a luminous cascade of honey-gold waves that caught the sunlight and sailed effortlessly on the warm breeze as she spoke. Her face was framed by high, subtly chunky cheeks that softened her profile, while her honey-brown eyes were underlined by thick, long lashes—a natural, striking fringe. Below a delicately straight nose, her lips were full and naturally curved, completing a stunning look of easy grace. It was this collection of sharp, yet gentle features that made her instantly noticeable against the bustling backdrop. She held a small, sturdy trolley bag with one hand and a phone to her ear with the other.
"Yes, I have landed and was waiting for my cab," Inaya’s voice, soft and melodic, informed her grandmother over the phone.
"Okay, dear, be careful. I will be waiting for you," the old woman's gentle voice, as familiar as the taste of home, replied before the call disconnected.
As if on cue, a cab slowly pulled up to the curb in front of her.
Inaya gave a small sigh of relief. She swiftly tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and effortlessly lifted her trolley bag—the compact luggage feeling feather-light in her strong grip. With a practiced motion, she swung it into the trunk before getting inside.
As she settled into the back seat, the driver, a middle-aged man with kind, tired eyes, looked at her through the rearview mirror.
"Bhatta Village, please," she said, her voice clear despite the din of the terminal.
The driver nodded before puling the cab smoothly away from the curb, merging into the stream of departing vehicles.
Inaya leaned her head against the window, watching the airport terminal recede behind them. It's going to take two and half hour to reach her destination. It was just enough time. She closed her eyes, letting the gentle, hypnotic rhythm of the engine and the slight sway of the car take over.
The car hummed along the highway, the city gradually giving way to open land. The driver adjusted his mirror, his eyes landing on Inaya’s face through the reflection.
"Forgive me for asking," the driver began, his tone gentle, "but... Where are you from? You don't look like you’re from around here."
Inaya opened her eyes, a polite smile touching her features. "I’m from here, in a way. My father was Indian, but my mother was from Norway." She gestured vaguely towards her hair. "I resemble my mother. I get that a lot."
The driver nodded slowly, his expression shifting to one of understanding. "Ah, yes. A beautiful blend," He didn't press the matter further, focusing back on the road.
She also leaned back and closed her eyes. It wasn't the first time someone had asked her about her features. It had been this way since the very beginning—since she was a child living in Bhatta Village with her grandmother. Her parents had passed away when she was a toddler, barely one year old, leaving her in the care of her grandmother, a stern but loving woman whose life was rooted deep in the traditions of the village.
While her grandmother showered her with affection, the other children saw only the difference. Inaya’s luminous, sun-kissed hair and her olive-but-not-quite-Indian skin were a stark contrast to the darker features and jet-black hair of her peers. To them, she wasn’t just Inaya; she was an outsider.
The bullying started early. Children are often cruel with their words. They would point, whisper, and giggle. But she learned to bear it and eventually got used to the weight of their scrutiny.
Amidst the chorus of mocking voices, she had two childhood friends, Suchi and Charvi. They were always there, a solid, unwavering presence. They grew up together, playing in the fields, sharing secrets, and studying.
Their lives continued this way until Inaya turned eighteen. That year, she was accepted into a well-known university in Delhi. The news was a dizzying mix of excitement and pain. She did not want to go, to leave the only family member she had—her grandmother—or the two friends who were like sisters. But her grandmother, sensing the larger opportunity and a chance for Inaya to escape the narrow judgments of the village, pursued her. And so, Inaya left for the city.
She studied hard in Delhi, but there was not a single day she missed talking to her granny, diligently checking on her well-being. She also came home on vacation in the summer, winter, and for all the major festivals.
But this time, it was different. She had not come home for a celebration or a break. Suchi had called her, her voice trembling as she disclosed that her granny's health condition was not good. Inaya immediately called her grandmother, who, in her typical fashion, refused to pressure her or cause tension, trying to keep the severity hidden.
Inaya, however, caught the lie. She instantly took an emergency leave from her final-year classes, booked the first available flight from Delhi to Dehradun, and was now here, moving by road toward the village, which situated between the route of dehradun to mussoorie. Most likely closer to mussoorie.
The jarring blare of the cab's horn yanked Inaya out of the deep, restless doze she hadn't even realized she'd slipped into.
The car had slowed to a near stop, and the driver was turning off the main road onto a narrow, gravel track.
"We are here," the driver announced, cutting the engine.
Inaya stared. The two-and-a-half-hour journey, had passed with a dizzying speed. It felt as if she had just reclined her head, yet they had reached their destination.
She looked out the window, and her heart swelled with a familiar, complex emotion that was equal parts relief, nostalgia.
Bhatta Village was exactly as she remembered it, frozen in time and bathed in the harsh, late-afternoon mountain sunlight. The village was tucked neatly into a small, relatively flat shelf of the high mountain. Above it, the peaks of the Mussoorie range rose, rugged and majestic, their upper reaches draped in a thin, hazy mist.
She paid the driver quickly, pulling her sturdy trolley bag out of the trunk and setting it on the gravel, as the cab left. She took a long, deep breath, the air filling her lungs. It was pure, pinewood-scented oxygen, a natural tonic compared to the city’s polluted air.
Inaya slung the strap of her small carry-on over her shoulder and began to pull her trolley bag onto the familiar, stones path.
"Inaya!"
The sound of her name, shouted with a perfect blend of joy and relief, stopped her instantly. She turned back toward the road.
Standing just a few feet away were: Suchi and Charvi.
Suchi, with her perpetually bright eyes and quick smile. Charvi, always the taller and more reserved of the two, stood beside her, a gentle, welcoming grin already lighting up her face. They looked exactly as they should—a bit older, a little wiser, but fundamentally the same.
Inaya dropped her trolley bag, as the trio collapsed into a bone-crushing hug. It was a tight, fierce embrace that communicated, how much they have missed each other.
You came!" Suchi exclaimed, pulling back just enough to look Inaya over, her eyes shining with relie.
"Of course, I came," Inaya replied, he voice thick with emotion, "How are you two? You haven’t changed a bit."
Smiling and laughing, they quickly picked up Inaya’s bags and continued their walk along the familiar gravel path toward her grandmother’s house.
As they walked, Charvi reached into the pocket of her kurta and triumphantly produced a single, perfectly ripe peach. Its skin was a delicate blend of rosy blush and golden fuzz.
“Here,” Charvi said, handing it to Inaya. “It’s from your favorite farmhouse. We only managed to get one.”
Inaya took the peach, its weight cool and firm in her palm. “You two haven’t lost your touch, I see,” she chuckled,
“Oh, it’s much harder now,” Suchi sighed dramatically. “The guard has changed! He’s a strict one. One day last week, we were sneaking around for a few peaches, and he caught us! He came running after us with his thick bamboo stick!”
“We had to fly up the hill,” Charvi added, shaking her head and grinning at the memory. “Thankfully, our faces were hidden, but my heart was pounding against my ribs for an hour.”
Inaya laughed, "The things you two do! So, does the owner still had not come to their farmhouse?"
Suchi and Charvi shook their heads in unison. "No, still hasn’t stepped foot here in years," Charvi confirmed. "The guard, that greedy hag, he runs the whole operation. He just sells all the fruits himself, stuffs his own pocket with the money."
Nodding, Inaya lifted the peach to her mouth and took a slow, deep bite. The flesh was instantly sweet, rich, and intensely flavorful, with a subtle tang that made her eyes close in contentment. It was exactly as she remembered, the sweet and tangy flavour of the peaches she loved.
Inaya finished chewing, feeling the sweet juice on her lips, her eyes bright with a familiar, mischievous glint. "Don’t worry, guys," she said, "Now that I’m here, we’ll see what that guard can do. We will sneak all the peaches!"
The three of them burst into laughter, their minds filling with sweet memories of their carefree old days.
Their laughter subsided as they rounded the final bend. There, sitting just outside the threshold of her house, was her grandmother.
The old woman was frail, wrapped in a shawl despite the May warmth, but her stance was steadfast. The second she saw Inaya, a look of profound relief washed over her stern features.
Inaya dropped her friends’ hands and rushed forward. She knelt down and wrapped her grandmother in a tight, reverent hug, burying her face in the familiar scent of woodsmoke and old cotton.
Her grandmother held her just as fiercely, then pulled back immediately to scrutinize her face, her old eyes sharp with concern.
"My child! How are you ? Did you eat on the way?” the old woman fussed, her gentle voice laced with a tremor of worry. She seemed less concerned about her own health than about Inaya’s journey.
Inaya gave her a reassuring squeeze. " I am fine grandma, now you tell me about your health, what happened? "
The grandmother shook her head, then waved a hand dismissively as she turned to lead Inaya inside. Suchi and Charvi followed along, bringing the bags.
“I just had a little fever, Inaya. I am perfectly fine. You didn’t have to rush here for me. These brats are idiots!” she declared, fixing a mock-scolding look on Suchi, who had been the one to betray the secret of her illness.
Inaya, however, saw the fine layer of dust on the old woman's usual spotless floor and the faint, tired shadows under her eyes. She knew her grandma was downplaying it.
“No, grandma,” Inaya said softly, putting an arm around her shoulder and guiding her to sit. " Now tell me the truth. Was the doctor worried? Did he say you need any more medicine, or a special diet?"
"The doctor is a fool. He only wants money. I told him a little ginger and turmeric will fix me faster than his pills. Don't worry, dear. My fever broke two days ago. I just need to gain back my strength. I'll be fine by tomorrow morning. Now, stop looking at me like I'm made of glass and tell me about yourself." She deflected the subject with practiced ease, successfully shifting the focus from her health to Inaya’s life.
Inaya sighed, accepting the temporary truce. She knew she'd have to monitor her grandmother closely. "The exams are on hold. My thesis is due next month. But none of that matters now. You just need to rest. I'm going to take care of everything."
--
As the darkness took over the mountain village, Inaya walked her friends to the door, bidding them goodbye with a quiet promise to talk later. Once they left, Inaya immediately went to the kitchen and began preparing dinner, not letting the old woman do anything except tell her where the spices were stored. After the dinner, She settled her grandmother onto the bed. Once she was sleeping, Inaya stepped outside onto the small, open porch. She sat on the stone step, breathing deeply. The night air was clean, crisp, and intensely cold, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the nearby forest.
She looked up. With no city lights to compete, the sky was a dense velvet curtain pinpricked by a thousand brilliant stars.
Inaya leaned her head back against the cool stone pillar, the weight of the last twenty-four hours settling on her. Her grandma was the only family she truly had, a fierce, protective presence whose strength seemed suddenly fragile. She sat there for a long time, the only sound the distant, soft hoot of an owl, watching the mountain night unfold, a silent vigil of concern and love.
