North pole. South pole. Exist in the same world, but still farthest apart from each other. Holding this world together, without holding each other.
North, restlessly alive… skies lighting up with auroras, like emotions he can neither hide nor maintain for a long time. There's constant movement around him, oceans breathing, ice cracking, time flowing. He feels everything deeply, but still is aloof of this world.
South, quiet… strongest in her stillness. She doesn't ask the world for attention, she carries her loneliness with grace. Endless white, endless patience. Her nights are long, but she has learned how to sit with herself, how to find comfort in silence. The stars keep her company, and somehow, that's enough.
They never meet, yet they're inseparable. Every compass points towards them, every map is drawn because they exist. The earth spins between them, like their shared moments. Like something which is connected but apart. Strange right?
Strangers are strange like that. Sometimes they feel like the north and south poles, existing in the same world, carrying their own loneliness, never expecting their paths to cross.
But then, life spins… and sometimes it spins in places like Gokarna.
Between quiet temples, salty air and sunsets that melt slowly into the sea, two strangers can meet. Not long enough to belong to each other, but long enough to recognise something familiar. Like looking at someone, feeling your compass steady,
As if it finally knows where the north is
That is where Tara's story begins.
Tara came to Bangalore from Mumbai alone. Mumbai was her home… noisy, familiar, full of people who knew her without asking questions. Most of all, it was where her mother was. Leaving her wasn't easy. Some days, that thought sat heavier than the city itself.
Bangalore was different. Life here became small very quickly. Apartment and office. Office and apartment. Days passed quietly, almost without leaving a mark. The city moved fast, but Tara felt like she was standing still.
She was carrying a relationship from her childhood. It had once felt safe, comforting, like something she could always rely on. But over time, things had changed. Their priorities were no longer the same. Conversations felt forced. The emotional connection slowly faded.
There were no big fights, no dramatic moments, just distance.
The kind that grows when two people stop meeting each other where they are.
Tara felt disconnected, but she didn't know how to say it out loud. Ending something that had lasted so long felt harder than staying. So she stayed even when it felt empty.
Her life was calm. Too calm. Almost boring.
She met a few old friends once in a while, laughed, caught up, then came back to her room. The silence always waited for her. Stress quietly built up. The routine started to feel suffocating. She felt restless, like something inside her was asking for more, but she didn't know what.
That's when the idea of a solo trip came to her.
Gokarna wasn't a plan. It was a feeling. A need to step away, to breathe, to be alone without feeling lonely. She booked the ticket without thinking too much, trusting that urge.
Tara didn't know what she was searching for.
She just knew she couldn't stay where she was.
And sometimes, that's how change begins.
…
"Mumma, please. I promise I'll be safe. I'll share my location with you all the time. Please let me go on this trip," Tara pleaded, her mother's worried voice filling the other end of the call.
"How can you travel alone to an unknown place, with unknown people?" her mother scolded, concern slipping through every word.
"What are you even saying?" Tara tried to stay calm. "I came to Bangalore alone. This entire city was unknown to me. I didn't know a single person here. So what's the problem in travelling alone now?"
"You are not going to Gokarna by yourself," her mother insisted. "Ask one of your friends to come with you."
Tara already had. Every single one of them was busy.
The realisation hurt more than she expected. She felt suddenly dependent, and that made her sad. It felt like no one was really there for her. Over the past few weeks, she had started noticing changes in herself… skipped meals, no energy to step out of the room, lying on her bed and staring endlessly at the ceiling.
Her studio apartment was painted white. Too white. On some days, it felt less like a home and more like a mental ward. Her days had turned robotic, repetitive, and painfully quiet.
That was when she noticed it… a screensaver on her office laptop. Blue skies. Open space. Something inside her shifted. Her tired eyes lit up, holding onto a small, stubborn hope. A hope to breathe fresh air. To see a clear sky. To run on warm sand. To feel sea water on her skin. A hope to escape this loop. A hope to find herself again.
Now she lay on her bed once more, staring at the same white ceiling. Her phone rested beside her, the screen glowing with a 5 days, 6 nights – Gokarna package.
Would I be able to do this?
Can I really escape this loop?
What if something goes wrong?
What if I die?
She let out a breath.
Wouldn't that still be a better death than slowly losing myself in this fucking white room?
To go… or not to go?
To go?? Or not to go???
Before she could think any further, her fingers moved on their own.
Proceed to payment.
The confirmation email appeared on her screen.
She sat up straight, suddenly alert.
"Did I really book that vacation? For real?" she whispered, before falling back onto the bed again.
Her heart raced with anxiety, fear, nervousness, and a slowly growing excitement all crashing into each other.
"I just hope everything goes well," she murmured. "I only want to enjoy… and come back alive. Hmm. That's it."
…
The day she was supposed to leave felt oddly normal.
Tara left the office in the evening with one of her colleagues who lived close to the pickup point shared by the tour guide. He had offered to walk with her, knowing it was her first solo trip. She was grateful for the company, even if she didn't say it out loud.
Before heading to the pickup point, they took a slow walk around a lake near his house. The air felt lighter there. The water was still, reflecting the fading sky. For a few minutes, Tara forgot about buses, bags, and everything waiting ahead. It felt good to just walk, without rushing anywhere.
They then stopped by the Banashankari temple. The place was quiet, calm in a way that softened her chest. Tara stood in front of the goddess, eyes closed, hands folded. She didn't ask for anything specific. Just safety. Just strength. Just the courage to do this.
As they sat outside the temple, they spoke about life… not deeply, not dramatically, just honestly. He spoke about living alone in Bangalore, about responsibilities that come with independence. About how everyone their age was carrying something… family expectations, financial pressure, dreams that didn't pause just because life felt heavy.
Everyone was hustling, trying to build something, trying to survive the city without losing themselves.
Tara listened quietly. Somewhere in that conversation, she felt less alone. It helped her realise that what she was feeling wasn't unique. Everyone had baggage. Everyone was still showing up.
After dinner, he dropped her at the bus stop. The bus hadn't arrived yet, so he stayed. He stood there with her, making sure she was okay, waiting patiently. Only when she boarded the bus and found her seat did he finally leave, waving as the bus pulled away.
That small kindness stayed with her.
She sat alone on the bus, her backpack beside her. The tour guide and driver sat in the front. The bus felt unfamiliar, but not scary. Just new.
Before the next pickup point, she video-called her mother. She showed her the bus, reassured her again, smiled more than she felt. Her mother reminded her to eat properly, to be careful, to call whenever she could. Tara nodded, promised, and ended the call with a soft ache in her chest.
Her phone buzzed again.
Messages from her boyfriend.
The argument was still going on. It had been two weeks now. Same points, same misunderstandings, no resolution. Tara read the messages, felt the heaviness return. She didn't want to carry this into the trip. Not now.
So she locked her phone.
She looked out of the window as the bus stopped at each pickup point, passengers slowly boarding… strangers, just like her. The journey was beginning, whether she was ready or not.
And for the first time in a long while, Tara decided to just sit with the moment.
The bus moved forward.
So did she.
As the bus moved forward, Tara felt a strange awareness behind her seat. Someone was sitting there, restless. The window beside her opened, closed, opened again. The sound began to irritate her
Who is sitting behind me? she wondered, without turning back.
Once everyone had boarded, the tour guide walked down the aisle. He spoke loudly, full of energy, explaining the itinerary, how many hours they would travel, the places they would visit, what food was planned, how the rooms at the resort would be allotted. It all sounded distant to Tara, like background noise to a journey she was still settling into.
Then came the introductions.
The trip leader was clearly excited. One by one, people said their names, smiled awkwardly, waved at strangers they would probably forget by morning. Tara introduced herself too, quietly, knowing she wouldn't remember half the names anyway.
Music followed.
At first, it was soft. Then louder. Party music. Suddenly, people started standing up, moving toward the middle of the bus. They balanced themselves against the motion, laughing, dancing to the beat as if they already belonged together.
Tara stayed in her seat, looking out of the window. But then one of her favourite songs started playing.
She turned around.
The sight surprised her.
So many people were dancing together being carefree, loud, unbothered.
Do they all know each other? she wondered.
And then she noticed him.
Somewhere in the middle of the crowd. Dancing freely. A white shirt, sleeves rolled up, jeans. She could only see his back, but something about him pulled her attention and irritated her at the same time.
He looked too comfortable. Too confident.
He moved like he knew eyes were on him. Like he didn't mind them. Pulling people out of their seats, laughing, drawing attention without trying too hard.
Tara looked away.
Toomuch, she thought.
She turned back to the window, pretending not to notice how her mind kept drifting back to that white shirt.
She didn't know it yet, but this was the first disturbance in her carefully quiet journey.
And it had just begun.