Chapter 1- The Mansoon Road
The rain fell in sheets, like someone tearing pages from the sky.
Through the fogged windshield, Shajahan could barely see the road as it twisted through the hills of Pathanamthitta. Trees leaned close, heavy with water, whispering old secrets to the wind. The car's wipers fought to clear the glass, but the downpour refused to be ignored.
Ansiya sat beside him, wrapped in a shawl, her face turned to the window. She hadn't spoken in nearly forty minutes.
"Cold?" he asked, breaking the silence.
She shook her head. "No. Just thinking."
About what, he didn't ask. There were things that didn't need words—especially on roads like this, when the air felt soaked with more than rain. Memories clung to the mist. Every bend in the road carried the weight of something left behind.
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They passed a broken milestone: Naranamoozhy – 4 km.
Shajahan remembered this road from years ago. It hadn't changed. The same leaning electric poles. The same sudden fog, rolling in like a sigh. It felt like the past was catching up with them—on two wheels, on foot, through silence.
"Why this place?" Ansiya asked suddenly.
He glanced at her, surprised. "You mean Pathanamthitta?"
"No. I mean... this route. This detour."
Shajahan didn't answer immediately. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"Because some journeys don't end where we think they do," he said. "Sometimes we need to pass through a place we once avoided... to find out where we truly stand."
Outside, the rain lightened. A river appeared briefly beside the road, swelling at its banks, flowing wild. The Pamba.
"Have you ever been here before?" he asked.
"Not really," she replied. "But I think something here has been waiting for me."
Shajahan looked at her, this woman whose presence was both quiet and urgent, like a question left unanswered for too long.
And for the first time since they began this trip, he felt that it wasn't just the road they were following.
It was something deeper.
Something calling.
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To be continued...
✍🏻Rasheed Rashi