Like a crack to a stone, frozen in a high mountain clime, warmed by a sudden release; Tashi, then Loti, and then Shampa came back into my life, as I their's. We met on the streets, upon the steep hills of McLeod Ganj, spontaneously, by the will of what is. It started with an early arrival on the 5th. 5:30 AM, freezing, a small pack and the British Airways blanket cloaked as a shawl. Kicked off the bus at its final destination, I wandered down familiar paths toward Tashi and Gyathar's home. I arrived, half numb, and waited outside with the intent to not disturb its inhabitants. Time ticked; one hour, two hours—I drifted in and out of sleep, haunted by flash-dreams of frostbite until the owner of the property emerged from his room. "Tashi," he
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