Journey To Kasol

September and October always felt different. The rain lingered longer, the air smelled of wet earth, and everything seemed suspended between endings and beginnings. My college exams were finally over. I should have been exhausted, but instead, I felt strangely alive—caught between celebration and ambition. I was in a carefree mood, yet deeply focused. The licence exam awaited me. Soon, I thought, my name would finally carry the word "Doctor." That single word felt heavier than all the books I had studied for. Independence. Purpose. A life I was slowly building, piece by piece. That was when my phone vibrated. I unplugged it from the charger and glanced at the screen. Mr. Know-It-All calling. A smile escaped me before I could stop it. Why does his name always manage to do that? I wondered. I picked up the call almost instantly. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was loud, impatient, almost frantic. I could imagine him perfectly—brows furrowed, jaw clenched, face turning red. "Ishita! Are you even listening to me?!" I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear, inhaling slowly. Why is he always dramatic? "Danish," I said calmly, "why are you shouting like the world is ending?" "What do you mean why? This is my third call! At least once, pick up on the first ring, dumb-dumb!" I frowned. Third call? That can't be right. "There was no call," I protested. "Don't make a fool out of me." His frustration spilled over. "Just check your phone! Keeping it on vibration all the time—how do you expect anyone to reach you?" I smiled despite myself. "But you did reach me," I said softly. The call ended abruptly. I stared at the screen. Uff… drama queen. When I unlocked my phone to call him back, guilt crept in. Two missed calls. Several messages. Okay… maybe I was wrong. I dialed his number. Tu… tu… tu… He answered. "Hello," I said gently. "I'm sorry." "For what?" he asked, still pretending to be offended. "I shouldn't have fought with you," I admitted. "Don't get angry. You're the only one I have." The words surprised even me. Did I really just say that? There was a pause. "So I'm the only one?" he asked quietly. "That's why you're my friend," I replied. Then, trying to lighten the moment, I laughed."Though honestly, you're a friend only because you're a total gossip girl." There was a brief pause—and then he laughed. Not offended, not defensive. Just that easy, familiar laugh that always softened the air between us. "Oh please," he said. "I don't gossip. I collect important information for future emergencies." Of course you do, I thought, smiling despite myself. This—this is why he matters, I realized quietly. He always knew how to bring things back to normal without making it obvious. "Stop talking nonsense," he continued. "And for your information, I am not a girl." "Okay," I said innocently. "And I don't gossip." "Okay," I repeated, this time with deliberate suspicion. There was a beat. Then— "Now seriously," he said, suddenly earnest, "find some girl for me. Help me out, dumb-dumb. Find someone for your friend. Cute, single—" "—and unfortunately breathing," I added smoothly. I laughed. He groaned in irritation. "You enjoy this too much," he accused. "So now I'm a matchmaking agency?" I asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "No," he corrected calmly. "You're just unemployed at the moment." Unbelievable. "And don't act like it's impossible," he continued. "You've already found someone for yourself. Help me a little—and in return, I'll find you a handsome boy. Easy-peasy. Anyone from my friend list catch your eye? I'll introduce you." I rolled my eyes. "First of all, I didn't find anyone. And second—your friends never match my standards." There it was. The truth. He groaned dramatically. "Exactly! That's the problem. No one ever matches your standards. In short—no one on this planet qualifies." "That's not true," I protested. "I broke up last time because the guy was too serious about me." He laughed again, softer this time. "See? That's exactly my point. He was serious about you—and that was his crime." I frowned. "What does that even mean? Just because someone is serious and ready to commit doesn't mean I should automatically say yes. I just didn't feel that connection. Am I supposed to stay single forever because of that?" He sighed theatrically. "No, madam. It simply means your standards are… creatively complicated." I raised an eyebrow. "You want romance, independence, mystery, ambition, emotional availability—and zero pressure. All in one human. Preferably delivered on time." I smiled quietly. Why does he understand me better than most people? "And let me remind you," he added, voice teasing, "you don't like people who like you too much. You start getting suspicious—like they're hiding something." I laughed softly, knowing he wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe I do run when things start feeling real. "So," he concluded, "until someone clears your impossible checklist, you're staying single. And until then—please stop rejecting my poor friends who are bravely risking their self-esteem on you." I teased back, "Relax. I'll flirt responsibly." "God help them," he muttered. "Especially the one who survives you." And just like that, the tension dissolved—replaced by laughter, familiarity, and that quiet comfort of someone who knew me too well… and chose to stay anyway.