The jeep roared as it left behind the last tea stall dotting the sleepy hillside. The sun hadn't cracked the sky yet, but the road ahead glimmered with dew, and every bend carried the hush of old trees waking up.

Pongo had claimed Manik's lap again, tail wagging gently in rhythm with the engine's hum. Rogue, ever the troublemaker, had his nose pressed against the window, his breath fogging up the glass like a curious toddler. Manik was sure that Nandini had chosen this one as he was literally her replica.

Nandini didn't speak much. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel to some beat only she could hear. Her hair was tied in the messiest bun known to mankind, and Manik smiled — she didn't even try to look like she belonged on a disciplined hike.

But he didn't mind. This chaos... was his peace.

"So what's the plan, soldier?" she finally asked, eyes on the winding road but a smirk sneaking out from the corner of her lips.

Manik adjusted his backpack near his feet. "Climb. Camp. Watch the sunrise. Breathe. Return. In that order."

"Wow," she chuckled. "Who knew hiking with the Indian Army came with an itinerary?"

Manik raised an eyebrow, looking sideways. "I never step out for a trek without an itinerary."

"I did. Once. I planned to ignore you. Didn't work."

He tried to hide his smile, but she caught it. She always did. He was shy about his comeback. Her lips too made a smiling curve as if replicating his blush.

Pongo had now climbed on the dashboard, trying to catch the feathers in the car hanging. He was clearly a destruction...Manik corrected his thoughts...he was clearly a distraction.

"This was not how I pictured our first trek," he muttered.

She laughed. That free, wild laugh that bounced off the dashboard and filled the car with sunshine. "Yeah? How did you picture it?"

"I don't know... maybe us, just us. Fewer paws. More hand-holding. Less fur in my mouth." Manik looked at his black jacket that was full of Pongo's furr.

Rogue has now found a spot to sleep on the dashboard and was not in any mood to come down.

She grinned. "This is real. You, me, them. And cold wind. And burnt toast in my bag. That's love, Cadet."

"Love! I see," Manik exclaimed dramatically. He loved it when she confessed it in anyway.

They stopped at a patch where the road narrowed into a walking trail — a raw, moss-covered path leading up to the hills. Clouds floated low, and the smell of wet pine filled the air. Manik stepped out first, tightening the strap on his backpack like he was suiting up for battle.

Nandini, on the other hand, was busy giving Pongo a pep talk.

"Listen, tiny wolf," she said, crouching in front of him, "today you climb your Everest. And no barking at butterflies, okay?"

Manik sighed. "This is why normal people don't take dogs on treks."

She tilted her head at him, mock-serious. "Correction. Boring people don't take dogs on treks."

Then, without waiting, she slipped on her oversized shades — at 6:15 am — and started walking, Rogue trotting beside her like he owned the trail.

Manik followed, still unconvinced.

For the next half hour, there was only the sound of boots on fallen leaves, the occasional pant of the dogs, and birds waking up to sing. At one point, Nandini stopped and pointed to a spot where the trees parted, revealing the entire valley below, still caught in the golden hush of dawn.

"Worth it?" she asked softly.

Manik didn't respond immediately. He just looked at her — wind kissing her cheeks, eyes full of that wildfire, like she'd been born in these woods.

_________________________________

The vintage white Ambassador stopped with a slow sigh of the brakes in front of the Murthy mansion. The sprawling estate stood like a stone sentinel—pristine, proud, and silent, as always. Daadu adjusted his muffler and turned to his right. His driver, Shambhu, was fidgeting.

"You didn't eat anything since morning," Shambhu said softly, his eyes still on the wheel.

Daadu didn't respond immediately. His gaze was fixed ahead—on the grand wooden doors that had seen many arrivals, some celebrated, others... not so much.

"Sahab..." Shambhu tried again, "The doctor said we should take it slow now. You shouldn't be going about like this alone. That... report—"

"Let it be," Daadu said, his voice gentle, but firm enough to end a conversation.

"But at least tell someone, Sahab. Nandini should know... or Rishi—"

Daadu turned his face slightly, enough for the fading sunlight to hit the deep lines etched across his cheekbones.

"I will," he said, "when it's time."

Shambhu's hands gripped the steering wheel. His eyes betrayed more fear than the old man had let in.

Daddy slowly walked into the quiet mansion, only to find servants setting the breakfast table. Rishita saw him and immediately asked the kitchen staff to cook his staple breakfast.

"I would have it in my room, beta," he told his daughter-in-law.

Rishita nodded and then went back to doing what she always did—perfecting her already perfect house just to feel less alone.

____________________________________

Evening draped the mountains in a slow, honeyed haze. The air was cooler now, with that signature nip that made your nose tingle and fingers seek warmth. Nandini kicked off her boots, letting her feet sink into the cold grass as she yawned with theatrical exhaustion.

"You didn't do any of the heavy lifting," Manik pointed out, locking the tent pole into place with practiced hands.

She didn't reply. Instead, she sprawled across the blanket like she was born to own the hillside. Rogue immediately jumped on her stomach, and Pongo tried to climb her face, tongue first. Nandini shrieked, laughing like she hadn't in weeks.

"Stop it!" she called, flailing one arm while the other protected her mouth from Pongo's overly enthusiastic licks.

"You're the dog mom, remember?" Manik smirked, not moving a muscle.

She glared at him, cheeks flushed and hair a glorious mess. "You're going to be a terrible co-parent."

"I'm not even sure I signed up for this parenthood," he muttered, tossing a stick toward the woods. Pongo darted after it like his life depended on it, dragging a reluctant Rogue with him.

The quiet that followed was comfortable. The firewood was stacked, the tent pitched. Manik struck the match. The flame flickered for a second, then caught on. The crackle of the bonfire filled the spaces where words would've been too much.

Nandini sat closer to the fire, pulling her knees to her chest. Strands of her hair had curled in the cold and the glow from the flames gave her skin a sleepy golden tint. Manik watched her from the corner of his eye, the way you look at something you're afraid to lose.

"You know," she said, voice lower now, "this could've been a solo trip too."

"Could've," he replied, adding a log to the fire, "But I don't think I'd survive it without chaos and two furballs." It was his turn then to rub some salt.

She smiled at that—slow, almost unusual. It wasn't often that words passed between them without a punchline or a tug-of-war. There was ease tonight, even in the silences.

Pongo came back, proudly dragging a branch almost as big as himself, tail wagging with unshakable confidence. Rogue decided it was too much effort and lay down dramatically near Manik's boots.

Nandini leaned back, eyes half-closed, lips curved slightly.

"What?" Manik asked.

She opened one eye, lazy and deliberate. "Nothing. Just... didn't think you'd fit here. With me. With them. This."

Manik didn't respond right away. He leaned back on his elbows, letting the warmth of the fire hit his face.

"I didn't think so either," he said.

And then they both watched the flames dance—two opposites wrapped in the same quiet moment. Not love confessions. No promises. Just the weightless comfort of knowing that someone else was sitting in the same silence, and it didn't feel lonely.

Just as Rogue began snoring softly, head against Manik's ankle, Nandini whispered, "I brought marshmallows."

He turned to her, surprised.

She threw one at his face. "Don't look so shocked, soldier."

He caught the second one mid-air.

Somewhere in the background, the fire crackled like it knew this night wouldn't come again exactly the same.

__________________________________

Night draped Murthy Mansion in solemn silence. The chandelier had long stopped flickering, and the last of the help had retired for the night. Only the quiet hum of the city and a low jazz playing in the background gave away signs of wakefulness.

Rishi stood by the bar in the study, swirling the ice cubes in his glass more out of irritation than thirst.

Madhav Murthy sat across from him, engrossed in blueprints and financials for the Austria plant. His glasses hung at the tip of his nose, the edge of his jaw tight with concentration.

"You can send someone else," Rishi said, almost casually.

Madhav didn't look up. "You're the face of the next phase, Rishi. I thought we agreed on that."

"We didn't agree. You instructed. Last time too, I told you I won't go anywhere."

Madhav paused. A full second passed before he set the papers down. "It's a great opportunity. A global stake in a legacy you'll inherit."

"And Nandini?"

Madhav's expression hardened. "What about her?"

Rishi exhaled, slow and controlled. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving her here alone with you."

A beat. The air thickened between them. Madhav leaned back, eyes narrowing. "You think I'd harm my own daughter?"

"I think," Rishi said, stepping forward now, the calm in his voice fraying, "you already did."

Madhav stood now too, rigid. "She was defying every rule, every bit of structure I built this family on. You saw it yourself—reckless, disobedient, wild—"

"She was living, Dad," Rishi snapped, "She was finally living on her own terms. You couldn't control it, so you threw her out like she was some employee who didn't follow protocol."

Madhav's voice dropped, quiet but cold. "Don't raise your voice."

"I'm not. I'm raising the truth."

Their eyes locked. Rishi's hands were clenched at his sides now.

"You think loyalty is blind following. But mine? Mine's with the one person in this house who never asked me to earn it. She doesn't need me—but she trusts me. Something you've never cared to build."

Madhav's jaw twitched. He poured himself a drink—more out of habit than need—and walked to the window. For a second, he looked... older. The weight of age and ego dulling the gleam he wore in business rooms.

"She doesn't understand the world," he said finally, almost to himself.

"No," Rishi replied, his voice softer now. "She just doesn't want to become like you."

Silence again.

"You'll regret pushing her out," Rishi added, eyes locked on his father. "And I won't watch it from Austria or anywhere else. You do what you have to, Dad. But I'm staying."

He turned and walked out, the door clicking behind him with finality. Madhav stood still, glass untouched, the hum of jazz now sounding lonelier than before.

__________________________________

Just beyond the study doors, the hall stood in shadows—dim, quiet, and cold.
Rishita stood with her back to the wall, eyes shut, breath held.

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She had come to remind Madhav about his medication. But the voices—first Rishi's, then Madhav's—had held her there like a whisper she couldn't walk past.

And when Rishi's footsteps moved away, she stepped back, heart thudding like a warning bell she didn't fully understand.

A few minutes later, she tapped gently on Rishi's room door.

He opened it, tired and restless.

"Mom," he said. His voice wasn't cold—just worn out.

"Can I come in?" she asked, almost unsure.

He stepped aside wordlessly.

Rishita entered, arms folded tight across her chest like she was holding herself together. Her sari pallu was half-falling off her shoulder, her bindi slightly smudged. Signs of someone who'd forgotten to fix her reflection in the mirror of late.

"You shouldn't speak to your father like that," she said, almost mechanically.

Rishi looked away and let out a slow exhale. "There it is."

"I'm not saying he's right," she added quickly, more defensive now. "But he's still your father. You know how he is. He doesn't like defiance."

He looked back at her. "And what do you like, Mom?"

She blinked. That stopped her.

"I mean it. Have you ever even asked yourself that?"

Rishita pressed her lips. "Don't talk to me like that, Rishi."

"I'm not," he said, softer now. "I just... can't understand why you keep siding with him even when you know it's wrong. Nandini was your daughter too."

Rishita's throat tightened.

"I know," she whispered.

Rishi looked at her, surprised.

"I know, Rishi," she said again, a bit stronger this time. "I know what he did wasn't fair. But I don't know how to go against him. I never have. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I did."

Her voice trembled—not out of fear but out of unfamiliar honesty.

"I've spent my whole life keeping him pleased. That's all I've ever been good at, or so I thought. I don't even remember what I used to be like before I became Mrs. Madhav Murthy."

She looked up at Rishi now—eyes glassy but not falling apart. "But when Nandini walked out of that door... something inside me cracked too. She was the only one who ever lived like she owed no one an apology. And I—I've never lived a day like that."

The room fell quiet again. Rishi stepped forward, gently placing a hand on hers.

"You still can, Mom."

She looked at their hands, and for once, didn't pull away.

"I'm trying," she whispered.

—--------------------------------------------------

Night fell sharp and sudden.

What was once crisp, pine-scented air had turned biting cold. The wind howled low and long through the trees, brushing against the tent's fabric like a ghost searching for stories.

Inside, the campfire had long died down, and the sleeping bags were zipped halfway. Rogue had curled into a little doughnut by Nandini's feet, and Pongo had declared the top of Manik's boots as his winter throne.

Nandini, though, sat with her knees tucked in—nose red, fingers stiff.

"Okay, fine," she said with a pout, teeth almost chattering, "I admit it. I may have slightly, just slightly, miscalculated how cold it gets up here."

Manik looked up from his phone, already halfway under the second sleeping bag.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Really? And here I thought your 'mountain instincts' would save the day."

She grinned, rubbing her palms together.

"They usually do. But then again, I haven't trekked up here with two dogs and a man who carries sunscreen labeled military grade."

Manik ignored that.

Instead, he lifted one side of the sleeping bag. "Get in before your sarcasm freezes over."

She paused, smirking. "Giving me permission to invade your personal space, Cadet?"

"I'm giving you permission to not turn into a human popsicle."

"Noted," she said, and quickly wriggled in next to him. Their shoulders brushed. The bag didn't leave much room for boundaries.

Manik stiffened. Just a bit.

Not because he didn't want this—but because he did.

And that... changed everything.

"Relax, soldier," she whispered, lips just inches from his cheek. "I'm not here to break your honour code."

"You break everything else," he muttered.

She giggled softly, snuggling in closer. "Some things are meant to be broken."

Pongo, clearly offended by being displaced, let out a small huff and pushed his tiny body between them.

"Oh look," Manik said. "Your chaperone's arrived."

"He's jealous. Can't blame him," Nandini whispered, gently tugging Pongo's ears.

Outside, the snow had started. Gentle at first, barely a whisper on the tent roof, then thicker. The sound was like someone dusting sugar over the world.

Nandini closed her eyes.

"This feels like one of those weird, perfect pauses in life, you know?" she murmured.

Manik looked at her—her eyelashes dusted in the golden light from their battery lamp, the curve of her lips calm for once.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But words—words were never his strength in moments like these.

So he reached out instead and took her lips for a deep kiss.

And that said enough.

Nandini smiled without opening her eyes.

"Careful, Manik. You're becoming soft."

"Just warm," he replied.

Outside, the snow blanketed the night.

Inside, two huskies snored between shifting limbs, a girl dreamed of wild places, and a boy who followed rules... allowed one to slip.

Just this once.

—-----------------------------------------------------

An update that might have come a little too late, but I am taking my bets. Thankyou all who still were waiting. I hope you like this chapter. Please help me spread the word that "A Thousand Encounters" is back. 😁

Much Love ❤️

Aditi