Meera felt tears hot behind her eyes. She had been running from a failed marriage, from a father who never said “I love you,” from a promotion that felt like a cage. She had thought mountains would fix her. But mountains don’t fix anything. They only hold space. That night, Meera stayed. Baba gave her a blanket and let her sleep on the charpai outside. The stars over Himachal were a spilled jar of diamonds. The wind carried the sound of a distant river.
“Baba,” she said. “Ek aur cup?” (Another cup?) Musafir Cafe -Hindi-
She looked at the walls. The messages. The harmonium. The woman in the red dupatta. Meera felt tears hot behind her eyes
