Space Between Us

The sun shone brightly over his family’s big estate. He ran a hand through his hair, unknotted his silk tie, and unbuttoned his collar with a deep breath. For years, he had lived under the heavy pressure of sharp suits, long meetings, and high expectations—the good son helping run the family business.

Today, though, he was leaving it all behind for a while, at least.

He slammed the car trunk shut. Nearby on the porch, his father lowered his newspaper, his eyes wide as he looked at his son dressed in simple jeans and a plain T-shirt.

“Wait,” his father said, setting his coffee cup down. “Are you really going on a solo trip?”

He turned toward his father with a warm, relaxed smile.

“Dad, remember the bet with my brother?” He leaned against the car and tapped the roof. “I hit that hard business target he set for the quarter. We agreed—if I hit the goal, I get my break. You can’t stop me now.”

His father shook his head, a small smile softening his usual serious face. “Fine. Just take care of yourself. And call us if you run into any trouble.”

From the second-floor balcony above, his mother stepped out, leaning over the stone railing.

“Take care of yourself!” she called down, her voice full of worry. “And don’t forget to call us when you stop for the night!”

He looked up and waved at her. “I will, Mom.”

His father stepped closer to the car. “At least tell us where you’re going. If something happens, we should know where to find you.”

He laughed softly. “I honestly don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” he said, opening the driver’s door. “I’ll just drive wherever I feel like going.”

His father let out a long breath. “Alright. Just be careful on the road.”

He got into the car, started the engine, and gave his parents one last wave in the mirror before pulling out of the driveway.

As the house disappeared behind him, he felt a light, calm feeling spread through his chest—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Freedom.

He rolled the windows down and let the cool air fill the car. No meetings waiting for him. No deadlines. No one telling him who he needed to be. He didn’t even have a set destination, and he liked it that way.

Maybe he had spent too long living the life everyone else designed for him. Maybe he just needed to lose himself to find out who he actually was. He didn’t know what he was looking for yet, but as the highway stretched out ahead, he kept driving.

A few hours later, the engine sputtered, rattled once, and fell completely silent. The fuel needle rested dead on empty.

He stood frozen by the side of the road. Behind him, the narrow asphalt highway wound back down toward the city he had spent his whole life trying to escape. Ahead, the steep mountain trail disappeared into thick mist. He was trapped right in the middle.

“What kind of store is this? There’s nothing here.”

He pulled the car over and stepped out.

Inside, an older man sat behind the small counter. He looked around before turning to him.

“Brother, where does this road lead?”

The shopkeeper pointed toward the narrow road stretching up into the mountains.

“It’s a trekking route, brother. Goes up toward the Himalayas.”

He glanced in the direction he pointed.

He looked up at the fog-shrouded peak, then back at the lonely shop. Cold mountain air swept down the pass, biting right through his light city jacket.

“Oh.” He hesitated before asking, “And where can I get gas for my car?”

The shopkeeper gave a short laugh.

“There’s no road for cars beyond here, sir. Forget about gas.”

He stared at him.

For a moment, he said nothing.

“What a mess I’ve gotten myself into,” he muttered.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen.

No service.

He raised the phone higher, as if that might somehow help, then looked at the shopkeeper.

“There’s no phone signal here?”

The man smiled.

“This isn’t the city, sir. It’s a village. We have only one telephone line here. This is the Himalayas. Mobile towers haven’t reached everywhere yet.”

He looked down at his phone again, clearly unimpressed by the situation.

He picked up a bottle of water from the counter and paid for it. Turning the bottle around in his hand, he studied the label before giving a small, uncertain smile.

“Is there anywhere I can stay down here for the night?”

“No hotels around these parts,” the shopkeeper said, pointing up a narrow stone footpath. “Your best bet is to walk up to the village. The local families run homestays up there. You can rest, and once the road opens, you can get gas, park your car somewhere safe, and continue your trip. But even when you get gas, you can’t drive up the hill anyway. You have to walk.”

He let out a long breath and ran both hands over his face. The reality of his situation hit him like a heavy weight—no phone service, no car, no familiar comforts, and nowhere else to go.

He looked up the winding path into the dark trees.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he muttered to himself.

He sat on the bench and asked for water, then drank it.

" How do you live here by yourself? He asked to the shopkeeper, moving his head to the dense forest in front of him.

“I am here for running business. I live on the high hill up. I close the shop and go home before it gets dark; the way is very dangerous to walk alone.” The shopkeeper said, pointing his hand to the high hillside.

While they were talking by the counter, the sound of hooves echoed from up the trail.

Jenish turned his head. Far off on the narrow mountain path, a rider was coming down through the mist and pine trees, with a dark, muscular dog trotting right beside the horse. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she drew closer. She sat easily in the saddle, moving smoothly with the horse’s stride until she pulled the reins right in front of the tea shop.

In one quick, smooth motion, she swung her leg over and stepped down onto the gravel with total confidence.

His’s breath caught for a second. Impressive, he thought, genuinely surprised by her skill. But he kept his face completely still, not letting his expression show anything.

The dog immediately noticed him—and stepped forward with a sharp, protective bark.

“Hey, Jange, quiet,” Mamata said softly, grabbing the dog by his collar and holding him back gently.

He looked at her. Mamata looked back at him. For a moment, their eyes met in silence.

The shopkeeper quickly spoke up. “Mamata! What brings you here today? ”

" I returned from the market there and needed some medicine for the sheep. How are you doing, brother” she asked to the shopkeeper.

“All good, Perfect timing. He’s from the city—came up here to travel, but the main road is blocked by the landslide. He’s alone and has nowhere to stay down here. Could you help find a place for him up in the village?” The shopkeeper asked Mamata.

Mamata looked him up and down, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. “Oh? Him?”

She glanced past him toward his car. “If you were coming all the way up here to travel, you should have checked the road conditions first. There was news in the city all morning about the landslide.”

His face changed right away. The quiet admiration he had felt just a moment ago vanished into a flash of defensive pride. What a rude person, he thought. If she doesn’t want to help, she could just say so. Why make all these unnecessary comments? He spoke to himself.

Before he could fire back, the shopkeeper spoke up. “His car is almost out of gas too, Mamata. And I have to lock up the shop for the night. He really needs somewhere to stay.”

Mamata looked at the car once more, then turned her eyes up toward the steep, winding mountain trail. “You’ve probably never been to the village before, have you?”

“No,” he said, keeping his voice cold.

She looked closely at his clean jacket and sneakers. “A city person driving all the way up here… I wonder if you can even handle that climb.”

He let out a sharp breath, his irritation flaring. “Do you have to make everything sound so difficult? I’m the one walking, not you.”

Without waiting for her answer, he turned around and marched back to his car. He popped the trunk open and started unstrapping his heavy backpack and trekking gear with quick, angry movements.

Mamata stood quietly by her horse, watching him pull his bags out. A small, amused smile stayed on her face as she gently patted Jange’s head.

She rode on the horse; Jange followed her, and he followed them.

The shopkeeper kept watching them until they disappeared.