A FEATHER IN KIGALI

Where the Wind Smelled of Ash and Hope

The plane touched down with a soft shudder, wheels dragging across the tarmac of Kigali International Airport. The skies outside were pale, cloudless, but heavy as if the land beneath held stories too old to be spoken.

Nishanth didn't look out the window. He had already memorized the country's history, but it wasn't facts he had come here for. It was feeling.

He walked through the glass terminal quietly, unnoticed. No fans. No journalists. No system chirp. Just a man with no luggage, a brown canvas sling bag, and eyes that had seen too much to be impressed by immigration lines.