A busy woman

As she helped me up, her words, "How are you feeling?" echoed in the cold hospital air. My feeble response was, "What happened to me?"

"You collapsed in front of my bike. I brought you here," she explained, her tone devoid of warmth. My left arm was adorned with a band-aid, a pitiful attempt to fix the damage. "It will heal within a week."

"Thank you," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Shame gripped me—I had collapsed due to weakness. I fumbled for my phone, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Looking for your phone?" she observed.

I nodded.

"It got crushed by my bike," she confessed apologetically. "Should I call someone for you?"

"You could," I sighed, mustering the strength to speak. "If I had someone to care for me."

"I am sorry."

"Nah, it's fine." I surveyed the hospital room, an unwelcome reminder of my financial inadequacy. Gathering what little strength I had, I attempted to rise.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, rushing to me and gently pushing me back onto the bed. "You should rest."

"I don't have money to pay the hospital bills," I confessed with a heavy sigh.

"Don't worry about the bill. I am paying. Besides, the doctor said once you are awake, you can go home."

"I know no one here. Where am I supposed to go?" I questioned myself.

"You can come with me. I am from Jhapa, and I live alone here. Having you at my apartment might bring colors to my dull life," she said, her eyes fixed on her phone. A busy woman, she had been engrossed in work on her laptop since my awakening.

Soon, the doctor came and discharged me. It was already midnight. The woman who brought me here dialed a number to call a cab. Faced with the choice between spending the night in the unfamiliar city streets and with a stranger, I reluctantly chose the latter. It seemed the lesser danger, after all, she hailed from my home district.

"Would you mind introducing yourself?" she inquired.

"No, I mean, I am sorry. I should have introduced myself a while ago." Shoving my broken phone into my dirty bag, I weakly uttered, "Hi, I am Nire Roy."

"I am Sampurna Baral," she said with a forced smile. The cab arrived just then. I took my bag and entered the cab, a silent passenger in the desolation of the night. The journey to her apartment took half an hour, a gloomy trek to an uncertain refuge.

I shuffled along behind her to her apartment, my body heavy with the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty. The door creaked open, revealing a space that, in contrast to my dreary expectations, was oddly beautiful. A fleeting thought of the life I once had flickered, only to be replaced by the stark reality of my current predicament. The cozy sofa and polished marble table seemed like artifacts from a world I no longer belonged to, mocking me with their unfamiliar comfort.

As I sank into the sofa, its softness offered little solace. The paintings on the walls, instead of bringing warmth, only served as cruel reminders of a life that had slipped through my fingers. Renowned artists like DB Yan Fu and feminist artist Ragini stared back at me, their vibrant strokes and colors accentuating the emptiness that now enveloped me. A guitar lay beneath one of the paintings, untouched, a silent witness to a melody that had long faded away.

"This is a one-bedroom flat, so you'll have to spend the night on the sofa," she stated matter-of-factly, her words echoing the solitude that had become my constant companion. She poured herself a glass of water, downing it with a haste that seemed to mirror my own desperation. "One glass of water is enough for me to remove all my stress of the entire day," she sighed, leaving me to wonder if such a simple act could indeed wash away the profound ache that lingered within me.

The next morning, as I hesitated before the sandwich she offered, a pang of shame gripped me. A sense of unworthiness clung to every bite, each chew echoing the hollowness that had become my existence. "I mean, a guy in a Burberry t-shirt claiming he has no one makes no sense," she remarked, unknowingly peeling away the layers of my facade. The admission that followed, "I am gay," left the room colder, the air heavier with the burden of isolation. Even for a modern woman, her stunned silence mirrored the isolation that now defined my every interaction.

The hug that followed felt like a fleeting reprieve from the misery that had settled over me. At that moment, as her arms enveloped me, the weight of my loneliness eased, if only for a brief second. She spoke words of comfort, yet their echoes only emphasized the gaping void left by the rejection I had faced. "It's just that they were not ready to accept the same old son with a new title," she said, her words an eerie echo of the abandonment that had become my narrative.

In the days that followed, her apartment, though adorned with material beauty, became a haunting reflection of my internal desolation. Each passing moment on the uncomfortable sofa felt like a sentence in a lonely purgatory. The paintings on the walls, once vibrant, now seemed to mock my inability to escape the shadows of my own existence. The guitar beneath the silent artwork whispered tales of melodies that no longer resonated with the broken rhythm of my soul.

As the process unfolded, I couldn't shake off the feeling that, even in the midst of temporary refuge, I was no more than a lost soul navigating a cold and indifferent world. "So, are you leaving tonight? With whom are you going?" Sampurna Didi inquired, her words carrying an unspoken understanding of the isolation that lingered within me. I shared that the process was over, and today marked my flight to Dubai, but the prospect of leaving her apartment felt like stepping back into the vast emptiness that awaited me.

"Relax, Didi, everything is going to be fine. Besides, there are three other students traveling with me to Seoul," I reassured, my attempt at optimism sounding hollow even to my own ears. Stuffing my clothes into a suitcase felt like packing the remnants of a life that had crumbled beyond recognition. Even though I insisted I could manage the journey to the airport alone, her persistence in seeing me off only underscored the stark reality of my solitary path.

"Nire, despite being complete strangers, we've connected remarkably well. With no siblings of my own, you've become my only brother," she expressed, her words momentarily lifting the weight that sat heavily on my shoulders. "If you think of me as your elder sister, visit me when you're in town. If you ever need help, give me a call. I'll do what I can," she offered, and in that moment, the kindness she extended only deepened the ache of knowing that even in this newfound connection, my journey was one that I had to traverse alone.

A heavy silence hung in the air as she handed me my luggage. "Sure, Didi, I'll call you after reaching there," I responded, my voice carrying the undertone of gratitude that masked the pain of a soul still navigating the lonely landscape of its existence. She turned away, and I stood there until her figure disappeared from view. The incoming call from a fellow traveler pierced through the silence, a stark reminder that, despite the fleeting warmth of connection, the cold reality of my solitary journey remained unaltered.

"Yes, I am on my way," I answered, recognizing Aagat's voice on the other end of the call. We had become acquainted the day Mr. Ryu handed us our tickets, visas, and passports, realizing that navigating Seoul would be a joint endeavor.

"Hey," Aagat greeted me with a smile as I spotted him in the ticket counter line.

The flight departed around 10:00 pm, a 4-hour journey from Kathmandu to Dubai.

"I am feeling hungry." The moment we landed at Dubai's international airport, I voiced my hunger. Despite the crew offering a variety of meals, both vegetarian and non-vegetarian, none of the options appealed to my taste buds. Consequently, I hadn't eaten much during the flight, leaving a growling wolf in my stomach.

"Hold on to your hunger for a bit," Aagat advised, walking briskly and leading the way. I detested the word 'soon'; it held an irritating vagueness. Whether it was a teaser for an upcoming movie or web series, the phrase 'Coming soon' always grated on my nerves. Nevertheless, suppressing my hunger, we made our way to the lounge, navigating the two-hour layover.

"Oh my god," one of our female friends exclaimed, surprised by the sight of a group of young lads in the distance