06-03-2026, 02:03 PM
He shakes his head, dismissing the thought.
Coincidence. Nothing more.
The email ends with one final line:
“If you're interested, leave within the week. The fishermen say the tides that reveal the island begin soon.”
Arjun stares at the message for a long time.
Somewhere deep inside him, beneath the exhaustion and loneliness and the lingering ache of Rhea’s absence, something shifts.
A small, quiet pull.
Not logical.
Not sensible.
But persistent.
Almost like a distant voice calling across water.
He exhales slowly.
Maybe distance will teach him something proximity hasn’t.
Maybe not.
But at least he’ll be moving.
On the center screen, the image of a couple frozen mid-kiss flickers for a moment before fading into black.
Somewhere far to the south, beyond the crowded cities and the known maps of the coast, an island waits between tides and mist.
And for the first time in generations, it is preparing to reveal itself to a stranger.
And somewhere in the ancient forest he had never seen before, the nine waiting flames had already begun to burn brighter.
Because long before Arjun chose the journey, the journey had already chosen him.
Then slowly, quietly, a decision formed.
Tomorrow he would leave.
He would finally accept the assignment he had been avoiding for months, documenting vanishing traditions in rural India.
Six months away from Mumbai.
Six months away from this apartment, this quiet shrine to other people’s happiness.
Maybe distance would teach him something proximity never could.
Maybe he would discover something in those forgotten villages that might fill the emptiness he carried inside.
Or maybe he was simply running.
Either way, he would be moving.
Arjun closed the laptop with deliberate finality. The soft click echoed through the apartment like a door locking.
He turned off the monitors one by one until darkness swallowed the room.
For a moment, the center screen flickered.
A photograph lingered there, a couple frozen in a kiss, suspended in perfect happiness.
Then the image faded to black.
Their joy disappeared, leaving only silence.
Weeks later, when his trekking friends suggested exploring the deep forests of Kerala, Arjun agreed without hesitation.
At the time, he believed it was simply his love for adventure that made him say yes.
He did not yet realize something far stranger.
Because somewhere in the remote ancient forests, hidden beyond roads, maps, and ordinary understanding, nine flames had already been lit.
And they had been burning for a very long time.
Waiting.
Waiting for the man who had just begun to dream of them.
Coincidence. Nothing more.
The email ends with one final line:
“If you're interested, leave within the week. The fishermen say the tides that reveal the island begin soon.”
Arjun stares at the message for a long time.
Somewhere deep inside him, beneath the exhaustion and loneliness and the lingering ache of Rhea’s absence, something shifts.
A small, quiet pull.
Not logical.
Not sensible.
But persistent.
Almost like a distant voice calling across water.
He exhales slowly.
Maybe distance will teach him something proximity hasn’t.
Maybe not.
But at least he’ll be moving.
On the center screen, the image of a couple frozen mid-kiss flickers for a moment before fading into black.
Somewhere far to the south, beyond the crowded cities and the known maps of the coast, an island waits between tides and mist.
And for the first time in generations, it is preparing to reveal itself to a stranger.
And somewhere in the ancient forest he had never seen before, the nine waiting flames had already begun to burn brighter.
Because long before Arjun chose the journey, the journey had already chosen him.
Then slowly, quietly, a decision formed.
Tomorrow he would leave.
He would finally accept the assignment he had been avoiding for months, documenting vanishing traditions in rural India.
Six months away from Mumbai.
Six months away from this apartment, this quiet shrine to other people’s happiness.
Maybe distance would teach him something proximity never could.
Maybe he would discover something in those forgotten villages that might fill the emptiness he carried inside.
Or maybe he was simply running.
Either way, he would be moving.
Arjun closed the laptop with deliberate finality. The soft click echoed through the apartment like a door locking.
He turned off the monitors one by one until darkness swallowed the room.
For a moment, the center screen flickered.
A photograph lingered there, a couple frozen in a kiss, suspended in perfect happiness.
Then the image faded to black.
Their joy disappeared, leaving only silence.
Weeks later, when his trekking friends suggested exploring the deep forests of Kerala, Arjun agreed without hesitation.
At the time, he believed it was simply his love for adventure that made him say yes.
He did not yet realize something far stranger.
Because somewhere in the remote ancient forests, hidden beyond roads, maps, and ordinary understanding, nine flames had already been lit.
And they had been burning for a very long time.
Waiting.
Waiting for the man who had just begun to dream of them.
-- oOo --
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