Chapter 3: Night on Mushroom Point

3

It wasn’t a full moon tonight, but the sky was clear. The moonlight was bright and cold, painting everything in a pale white.

The stars hung close, as if you could pluck them off the sky. Every leaf and rock was touched with silver, the shadows long and sharp.

From a distance, I could see a faint light on Mushroom Point—Uncle Nilesh’s lantern fuel lasted a long time.

The light seemed to pulse in the darkness, drawing me closer with every step.

I crept up the hillside, hidden by the neem trees along the path, and through the bushes I saw two tents.

My hand went to my throat, feeling for the old locket Ma gave me, as if it could protect me from what I’d just seen. The only sounds were the wind in the branches and the distant call of a nightjar.

The light wasn’t from a fire, but a lamp.

A dull yellow, steady—must be a battery lamp, the kind Didi Anya brought from the city.

Uncle Nilesh sat between the two tents, his back to the cliff, talking to someone.

His silhouette looked bigger in the lamp’s glow, hands moving as he spoke, the mountain wind tugging at his hair.

The tents blocked my view. I couldn’t see who was sitting across from him.

Even though I knew it had to be Meera, I was still curious. I lay flat on the ground and slowly edged sideways. I touched the thread on my wrist—Ma’s raksha bandhan—before crawling closer, half-praying no spirit would notice me.

Every inch, I prayed the leaves beneath me wouldn’t crunch. Sweat trickled down my neck despite the cold.

Gradually, a side profile appeared at the edge of the tent.

It was Meera.

Her glasses caught the lamplight, glinting as she turned. She looked different in the moonlight, almost older, more mysterious.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Even locals rarely came to Mushroom Point—no one else could be here.

Meera’s whole figure came into view, not far away.

She sat sideways on the grass, propping herself up with one hand, her legs curled to the side, smiling at Uncle Nilesh.

A pose straight out of an old Bollywood song—carefree, but with a touch of longing.

She’d been cute during the day, now she was graceful and poised.

What were they talking about? I couldn’t hear a word.

The wind carried snatches of laughter, but no words. I pressed my ear to the earth, hoping to catch something, anything.

About ten minutes later, Uncle Nilesh took out his phone and made a call.

He looked deadly serious, as if he couldn’t spare even a smile.

His face was lined with worry, brow furrowed like my father’s on the day our crops failed.

The call was brief. He held out his palm, gesturing up and down.

Meera nodded, swung her backpack around to the front.

The two of them fell silent, just staring at each other, wordless, quietly watching.

The silence was so heavy, even the crickets seemed to stop for a moment. The mountain night wind was cold as ice, sending chills up my back. The two of them sat like statues, making my heart pound.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket—Ma’s name flashed on the screen. I silenced it, afraid even a whisper would give me away.

Just then, a ringtone echoed through the valley.

It was an old Bollywood tune, one of those sad songs about lost love. The sound felt out of place, almost jarring in the stillness.

Uncle Nilesh put his phone on speaker and set it between them.

I couldn’t make out what was said, but I saw Meera burst into tears of joy.

Her hands flew to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks, catching the lamplight. The valley seemed to hold its breath.

Uncle Nilesh set down the phone and waited for Meera to calm herself.

Meera wiped her tears, unzipped her backpack, and took out a colourful little box.

It looked like the boxes you see at sweet shops during Holi—bright, glittery, promising hidden treasures.

Then she pulled open her kurti and leaned into Uncle Nilesh, her bangles clinking softly. Their shadows merged in the lamplight, moving as one.

I was stunned. She hadn’t been like this during the day.

For a moment, I felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s dream—a film scene, not real life.