It was 3.30 in the morning. It must be a - 40 degrees outside, but inside their tent, it had been a night of heat. Cozy and Comfortable inside the tent - his tent, his sleeping bag. Which she noticed now was made for a couple. Did he plan it all along? Pulling the wool wrap over her shoulder she picked up the smokes, lighter and unzipped the tent. To walk barefoot on the soft snow, that is what she had dreamt of doing before joining this trek. While the white of the snow peaked Himalayas glowed against a black night sky. While the galaxies glowed pink and purple with a silver shine of stars spread overhead. She wanted to lie down, sinking in the snow, fresh flakes falling on her cheeks. But in her dreams she were alone.
They were camping for the night, the morning would require them to continue the climb. After a day of such intense trekking on the peak, the buzz offered by alcohol in the blood was hugely comforting. Around the blazing bonfire, music ensued, glasses clanked and friendships kindred. But not between the quite bespectacled chubby girl on her first trek and the rugged tanned man in dark denim, obviously used to trekking the wildest terrain! His eyes had watched her erect her tent with difficulty but great enthusiasm. She poured over the instructions and smiled for the tips from the guide, he knew she wouldn't be needing the tent. His eyes watched her as she sat around the fire swaying to the guitar being played. There was another tune playing in his head. He knew she was on her 4th drink, and she smoked a bit along with a few other men.
As the group got rowdy and the conversations murkier, the smokes began to change their flavor. The drinks got heavier, the crowd thinned away into the colorful tents erected around in the snow. He sat down next to her, did he spot a glimpse of discomfort in the big round eyes? Soon they were the only ones sitting there. Only then did he pull out his intoxicant. The whole evening he'd sat neither eating nor drinking and here he was finally giving in to the blue smoke. She watched like a child watching their teacher, like a god his arms flexed over the earthen smoke pipe. She had possibly never seen those being smoked.
"She has probably never seen a man without his clothes either," he thought. They sat there in silence, they sat there in absolute awe of each other. Later she'd realize, she just didn't know what made her stay. Neel was a walking example of everything women like her steered clear of. And yet she stayed back. The fire was dying out, the breeze was picking up. So much so, that one could hear the whistling in the peaks. After a good 20 minutes of sitting in silence, he passed her the pipe. She copied his stance, the exact way he smoked. She really was taking in a lot of him to her heart tonight. A few puffs, a few coughs.
