By the time we reached the hotel, night had already taken over the sky. A gentle amber light poured from the lobby, stretching long shadows across the entrance. The building itself appeared simple yet dignified—quiet, composed, almost as though it had been waiting for our arrival.
We entered together.
The air held a faint mix of polish and a light floral fragrance—subtle, but inviting. Above us, a ceiling fan turned slowly, humming in a steady rhythm, while the receptionist greeted us with a polite nod. Our footsteps echoed softly on the tiled floor as we requested two rooms for two days, each furnished with two beds.
There was something reassuring in saying it aloud. Two rooms. Two days. A brief pause from the journey.
After completing the payment and receiving our keys, a staff member named Abdul approached. He was attentive without overstepping, standing straight with a professional yet warm expression. With a small gesture, he guided us down a dimly lit corridor.
Diljeet and I followed him into one room, while Peter and Amit were led to another a few doors away.
As Abdul unlocked our door, a warm light filled the space. The room was spotless—beds perfectly arranged, sheets crisp, the floor gleaming. The curtains were slightly parted, revealing a glimpse of the night outside. Everything felt precise, almost comforting.
“If you need anything,” Abdul said politely, pointing to a small button near the beds, “just press this. I’ll come right away.”
There was a quiet assurance in his voice.
We thanked him.
Once alone, Diljeet and I paused, simply taking in the moment. The fatigue from the journey seemed to settle into us all at once. Travel exhaustion often hides beneath excitement until the body finally rests.
Without much conversation, we unpacked a few essentials and headed to freshen up. The cool water against my face was instantly refreshing. When I stepped out, Diljeet was drying his hair, looking far more at ease than he had during the drive.
“Tea?” I suggested.
He nodded.
We pressed the button.
As promised, Abdul arrived within minutes, carrying a tray with practiced balance—tea gently steaming in porcelain cups, biscuits arranged neatly beside it. The rich aroma of fresh tea quickly filled the room.
We thanked him again and asked for the same to be sent to Peter and Amit, along with a message inviting them to meet us in the common room.
Before long, the four of us were gathered there.
The common room felt both spacious and intimate, simply furnished yet elegant. A large window stretched across one wall, revealing faint silhouettes of trees swaying under dim outdoor lights. Even in the darkness, the greenery seemed alive, holding a quiet presence.
Earlier, birds had filled those branches with movement and sound. Now they were gone, leaving behind a silence that felt almost sacred.
At exactly 9:00 p.m., dinner was announced.
Menus were handed to us at the dining table set within the same space. They featured local Nawabshah specialties—dishes rich in tradition and flavor.
We ordered Chicken Saji Bhaji with spicy rice and potatoes.
For dessert, kheer.
And lemon soda to go with it.
As we waited, conversation flowed naturally. The weariness of the journey faded, replaced by the comfort of simply being together.
Peter leaned back, stretching slightly. “I didn’t expect it to be this peaceful,” he said. “It’s… calming.”
Amit smiled. “After seven hours on the road, anything feels peaceful.”
Diljeet remained mostly quiet, sipping his lemon soda slowly. Droplets of condensation slid down the glass. Occasionally, his gaze drifted toward the window—not anxious, not tense—just observant, as if he were quietly taking everything in.
Then the scent reached us before the food did.
Warm spices. Slow-cooked richness. An aroma that seemed to wrap around us.
Abdul returned, serving each dish carefully. Steam rose from the Chicken Saji Bhaji, its spices deep and inviting. The rice was light and perfectly cooked, each grain separate. The potatoes shone, soaked in flavor.
For a while, no one spoke.
The soft clinking of cutlery filled the space as we took our first bites slowly, appreciating each flavor. Good food after a long journey has a way of grounding you—it brings you fully into the moment.
With every bite, the fatigue eased.
The kheer that followed was smooth and soothing, its sweetness lingering gently. The lemon soda added a sharp, refreshing contrast, cutting through the richness.
We thanked Abdul again. He nodded respectfully, reminding us that help was just a button away before quietly leaving.
After dinner, the mood softened further.
Amit shared a funny incident from earlier in the trip, exaggerating every detail so much that Peter burst into laughter, nearly choking on his drink. Even Diljeet allowed himself a small smile.
We casually discussed plans for the next day—nothing fixed, just ideas.
Outside, darkness had fully claimed the trees. The birds were silent. The world beyond the window felt distant, blurred into shadow.
Inside, however, there was warmth.
The common room no longer felt like part of a hotel. It felt shared. Familiar. Almost like a temporary home.
As the clock approached ten, we silently agreed it was time to rest. The day had been long, and the journey had taken its toll.
We rose from the table.
The hallway back to our rooms was quiet, lit by soft yellow lights. Our footsteps echoed faintly along the polished floor.
Back in our room, Diljeet and I got ready for bed without much fuss. The sheets were cool and smooth, welcoming our tired bodies. The stillness of the room felt almost protective.
Before turning off the lights, we exchanged a few final words.
“Smooth day,” Diljeet said quietly.
“Yes,” I replied. “Peaceful.”
There was a quiet gratitude in that moment—for the safe journey, for friendship, for the comfort the hotel had offered.
The outside world might have been vast and uncertain, but within those walls, everything felt steady.
I switched off the lights.
Darkness settled gently—not heavy, not suffocating, just calm.
Lying there, I stared faintly at the ceiling as the evening replayed in my mind—the road, the laughter, the food, the silent view beyond the window.
The hotel felt removed from everything else, like a pause carved out of time.
And slowly, sleep came—not suddenly, but in a quiet drift—carrying with it the promise of a new day waiting beyond morning.
Then suddenly, I woke at 2:30 a.m.
A nightmare had shaken me awake.
In it, a woman dressed in white held a blood-stained reaping tool, rushing toward me with terrifying speed. Moments later, distant screams began to echo around me.
Was it real?
Or just a dream?
I lay back down, choosing to sleep again.
Whatever awaited us would reveal itself soon enough.
What lay ahead… only God knew.
This work is my own concept and I have done enormous amount of hardwork on it. However the grammar is corrected with AI because it is not my native language.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡruqZBnFttS
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn7K5OlHKiT
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