Short Story: Echoing of the Hills by Akshat Pratap Singh

Akshat Pratap Singh’s short story captures the beauty of mountains and the fleeting magic of solo walks.

The clock on my bedside was just ringing the alarm bell when I jumped up. I’d barely slept, in fact. I can’t sleep well on beds that aren’t mine. There’s something invalid and illogical about foreign beds that I can’t really put into words.

Tiptoeing across the room (my friends were still snoring in the adjacent one), I crept past the door leading to the sit-out. What a strange thing it is to wake up to a milk-white overcast July morning! The sun is hidden by a thick cotton blanket of clouds, and the air is vapor-filled and hazy with a concentration of blooming scent. I could hear birds singing beyond the glass windows. A bright, chirping blur of teal flew past my vision as I peered out. What a soft, thoughtful time of the day this is…

I hurriedly began dumping things into my backpack. The camera bag, my headphones, a bottle of water, a packet of crisps, a towel, and a bunch of other things I knew I’d need on the way. Strapping the backpack around my shoulders, I whisked out. This was what I was here for.