The young boy stands beside his black Royal Enfield motorcycle. His hands tremble on the handlebars as he listens to the silence where the engine should roar. Pine needles drift across his palms from a gentle forest breeze.
The road ahead winds like a ribbon through moss-covered stones. Birds scatter into trees as the boy leans forward into the throttle. A sudden gust flips pages from his pocket, revealing a pencil sketch of the golden mountain peak.
The boy presses the kickstarter once more, rocking slightly in the saddle. A stray goat bleats loudly, blocking the path before trotting off between silver birches. He chuckles softly, shaking his head like the wise old teacher had been there after all.
Twilight settles along the mountain pass as headlights cut through cool air. The boy slows near a roadside café where cumin smells mix with frying onions from an open window. Knuckles pale but calm on wooden table edges.
No rearview mirror checks tonight. No mile-counting after dark horns echo over rooftops. The boy watches smoke curl from chimneys above sleeping houses, violet sky glowing softly against pine tree silhouettes.
Keys resting quietly on counter wood grain. Boy walks inside doorframe without turning left or right. Warm yellow light spills out onto pavement as night hum replaces engine sounds completely now.
Inside smells of cardamom tea and saffron bread instead of exhaust fumes. Boy smiles just once when owner offers extra sugar cube. Door chime fades behind him as he disappears down alleyway laughing softly.
Last look back only once—streetlamp flickering where motorcycle stood empty now. Keys still warm in pocket matching heartbeat slowing to normal rhythm again. Night sky full stars watching silently above quiet roads.