The bleak pages would lay unfettered for a long time. There have been following inhibitions of a long ignored friend and disguised emotions, all assumed in the form of a burnt note. It all comes under one pleasant day, where the promises of a snowy valley come to naught as the bickering grows ever stronger.  Once the clean feet are stretched out on the striped surface, all you need from the expanse is to record your forthcoming adventure in a sheet of paper. After all, who would ever deny the very sole goal you have journeyed to?

With the swirling tea leaves in a warm kettle, you are reassured that you have something you could take heart into. After all, his loss is not something you would have ever anticipated, and yet you are at a loss of words for him. Pity has to be a strong sentiment to be used at the moment, and as such, a kindred spirit is something you ought to be far away from. The convoluted feelings give rise to a rising dread, while the bubbling froth gives way to green sedimentation, something that is to be taken as faux in nature.

You at the moment are heralded as a golden child, who has come across several valleys of the Triund hill; a vision that cannot by any chance be conceivable by the eking-out father. For it has been a vicious climb up the stony plates and you come to meet your ambitious self. Someone who would not give a straying thought to the unsung past. As such, you would eventually embrace that self as you strain yourself to reach that one milestone, while you leave behind your whining mate in the dust and the confident whispers of the shopkeepers of the hill. They surely have claimed to finish that climb up in no time. And yet in your attempt to prove them wrong, creeping doubts eventually dissipate as you take the snowy crystals by your palm. The starry claims are just splendidly overdone, you note to yourself. After all, here you have stood by the edge, noting that it will always remain a rundown myth, embezzled in dirt. The zigzags by the end of the road grow in agonizing leaps, as the returning people pass off false assurances. For now, there is no existing competition. There is no relative ranking. All that remains is moving ahead past the hordes, hitting the mark and high-fiving the successive ‘gora’ stranger at the peak. The immediate exhaustion translates into overarching accomplishment as you raise your hands upon the green stretches of the peak. Following a meager meal of dal-chawal, you will ascribe to the deadline. You ought to catch the bus in time. In hurrying phases of torn out pages inscribed with your e-mail address to the now forgotten faces, you begin to feel a coalescing of a past age with the present. Towards the end, you will come to face your worried friend, a manually blurred out self that has concerns. Hypocrisy turns into warmth, with you relinquishing on a forgotten path. As it turns out, how would you for once have hard feelings at the moment?