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“How much farther?” My voice sounds troubled to my own ears. I look around at the vast expanse; vague outlines of hilltops and dark skies all around. The bus is barely lit and heavily crowded. I imagine how it might appear to people watching from outside - funny images of a moving truck with silhouettes huddled together in silence cross my mind. “Another hour” says the young boy as he collects the money for the tickets. It is barely 6 in the evening though the lighting outside says otherwise. I am in unfamiliar territory, traversing the route from Bhaktapur to Nagarkot in Nepal. The rickety local bus speeds along the uphill track sending rolls of smoke and dust on its winding deserted path. As we round a sharp curve rather callously, I hold on to the sidebars and steady myself. He reaches out to hold me close; I find myself landing back in the present with his touch. “Why travel this time of the year? And why Nepal, of all places?” My mother was perplexed at our choices, just like our choice of each other. Being born in the tropical southern state of Kerala in India, Nepal was a mix of extremities to us – beautiful landscapes and architectural views seen through movies or a forsaken calamity-struck place witness to a major earthquake few years back. It was during a random conversation on movies that he suggested “Let’s visit Nepal this year!” I had replied in the affirmative with second thoughts none whatsoever. Another bump in the road - a loud thumping noise. I see the huddled figures slightly levitate as we are all momentarily suspended in the air. “Should we have done this? Maybe this was not such a good idea after all...” Here I was in a strange land, with a person who I had met just a few months ago. It was winter, the outside weather was at 2 degrees Celsius. It was getting darker by the minute and the biting cold was not helping. My instincts scream out all faulty decisions from the past and the questions in my mind gain velocity garbed in cottony clouds of doubt. “What if we reach the place and it is all dark and uninhabited? What if there be no hotels or places to stay? What if Nagarkot doesn’t exist on the map? What if…” The thoughts race ahead and we hold hands. We had spent the last two days at Kathmandu. Newa Home, our place of stay had been more than home to us and we had settled into each other and the Himalayan ranges cosily. Nagarkot had been a split second decision, just like the last one. Since most treks were closed due to the peak winters, Nagarkot was our best bet to get a glimpse of Mt. Everest and the prospect had us brightened up. As the bus takes another sharp turn up the mountains, I see lights and buildings in a distance. The hazy fog envelopes us and the bus dramatically slows down to drudge uphill in limited visibility. The passengers almost melt into the dark as our eyes slowly adjust to the outside. The sleepy little village had a few eateries and hotels, mostly closed for the day. A bunch of elderly humans seated around a fire signal us to a nearby hotel. Their dog accompanies us halfway to the hotel. We hold hands tighter - must be fatigue or the cold. As we withdraw cash from the only ATM available -Machhapuchchhre Bank it says - we look at each other. Moments of silence transpire and he finally says “I would never have done this with any other woman”. “Me neither” I murmur, and we see ourselves smile broadly. The Observation tower slowly fills up with travellers at dawn. Gusty winds spread the aroma of hot tea as we hike up a dark path, the vast expanse of nature slowly unfolding before us. The first rays of the sun cast Mt. Everest in a golden shroud and we watch in awe. The clouds parted way to give us a majestic glimpse of its stately form and we stand humbled in its gaze.