The fort smelled of old stone baked in sunlight. Vines curled along the edges of broken arches; in some corners, wildflowers had claimed the cracks. Anim trailed behind the group as their guide explained battles and kings. The words washed over her, but what she really noticed was the way sound carried here — every footstep, every whisper echoing back as if the walls had learned to keep secrets.
She slipped her phone from her pocket and checked for bars. Nothing. For the first time since leaving home, a small panic tightened her chest. No signal meant she couldn't send her mother the promised text.
"Relax," Ayera said, falling in beside her. "There's a signal up on the ramparts. You'll get your text out."
Anim exhaled slowly and let her eyes travel over the courtyard. She opened her notebook and scribbled: Fort walls stand, even when kings fall. Maybe people can too.
That afternoon the group hiked a narrow path skirting the fort's outer wall. Below them stretched a valley shimmering with heat, dotted with goats and the silver thread of a river. The guide stopped at a viewpoint and began telling a legend about a princess who hid letters in the cracks of the stone to reach her family when she was trapped during a siege.
Anim listened harder to that story than any of the others. Letters hidden in stone… She imagined her own worries tucked into these walls, waiting for a time when she could pick them up again.
"You're thinking like a writer," Ayera teased, glancing at Anim's open notebook.
"More like someone trying to figure things out," Anim said softly.
That night, back in the simple dorms where the students slept, Anim finally caught a weak signal. She sat on the edge of the bunk bed and typed quickly: Reached safely. The fort is beautiful. How are you?
Her mother's reply came after a long pause: We're okay. Don't worry. Just enjoy. Call tomorrow.
Anim stared at the message until her eyes blurred. Don't worry. Easy to say.
She lay back and listened to the other girls' laughter echo through the dorm. Outside, a night wind whistled across the fort's stones. In the quiet, she realized she wasn't only carrying fear — she was also carrying a kind of stubborn hope, the same hope her parents must be holding onto at home.
The second day was harder. They hiked to an old watchtower at dawn, climbing steep steps worn smooth by centuries. Anim's calves burned, but at the top the view exploded into sky and hills and tiny villages. The guide encouraged them to sit and sketch or write.
Anim opened her notebook again. This time the words came without thinking:
I came here worried about the people I love. But up here I can see how small the fort is, how small even my worries look against the whole horizon. Maybe I can hold both: the fear and the joy of being alive.
Ayera leaned over to read, then gave her a quiet thumbs-up.
On the last evening the students built a small campfire in a courtyard and shared what they'd written. When it was Anim's turn, her voice trembled but didn't break:
"I thought this trip would be an escape," she read, "but it's been a mirror. It showed me my family's strength inside me. The walls here aren't just ruins; they're proof that some things endure. I think I can too."
The courtyard fell silent for a moment, and then the group clapped softly. Ayera nudged her. "You're stronger than you think."
Anim smiled, a real smile this time. For the first time since boarding the bus, the knot in her chest loosened.
That night she dreamed of walking through the fort with her father and mother, her brother beside her, all of them leaving notes in the stones for each other — tiny folded papers that the wind couldn't tear away.