Threads of Fate: The Tapestry of a Traveler's Tale
The tale is not so old;
it happened just a month ago.
My friend and I embarked on a trip,
Marvelling at mountains and the beauty of the flowing river called Ganga—so pure, so cool.
Legend says it originates from the Himalayas,
Absorbing the sins of humans,
Granting them redemption,
Yet people often forget that even Ganga Forgives unintentional transgressions,
Human nature, always seeking excuses.
We settled into a backpacker's hostel,
A cozy abode for fellow adventurers,
Where we encountered a captivating sight,
A foreign traveler with blonde hair and blue eyes,
Her aura spoke of stories yearning to be heard.
However, before we could exchange words,
She vanished into the tapestry of the hostel.
Meeting the owner to settle dues,
We noticed a woman beside him,
Mistakenly assuming she was his daughter,
Fate,
however, revealed its enigmatic twist— She was his kindred spirit, not his kin.
Let me describe the owner for you,
A man of 5'7", matured face, small yet sturdy frame,
A neatly shaven appearance,
but his hair showed growth,
His striking feature, the intentional display of white hair,
A choice that spoke volumes about his character.
As we ventured out to explore the afternoon,
The sun's warmth embraced us,
And upon our return, darkness prevailed,
The moon casting a serene glow in the sky.
Engaging with the other guests,
we sought to learn more,
Unraveling their unique stories and aspirations.
Through these encounters, I came to understand,
The owner, a man of around 45, unmarried,
Haunted by the fear of aging alone,
Anxiously pondering the prospect of a solitary end.
Life, I pondered,
is a tapestry of mysteries,
Woven with diverse encounters,
Each individual carrying their tales,
Shaping the narrative of their journey.
In the end, what remains clear is this— Life is what we make of it,
Choosing love over fear,
connection over solitude.
The traveler knew this truth,
And as I reflected on our brief encounter,
I, too, found solace in understanding.