Sunset Silhouettes And Silent Thoughts

The dry leaves crunched loudly beneath our feet, echoing through the quiet trail as we hiked in silence. We were racing the sunset, knowing that any pause to appreciate the scenery would cost us the view we came for. I kept my eyes on the ground, too focused on avoiding a fall, to take in my surroundings. I’m known for stumbling over things that are right in front of me, and this was my first hike—I wasn’t about to land flat on my back.

The trail grew steeper, and we nearly jogged the final stretch. The damp soil released a rich, earthy scent, a mix of life and decay that seemed to pulse with the forest’s energy. The chilly air cooled the sweat on my brows, and each breeze brought the dry, woody fragrance of crushed leaves and broken twigs, washing over me with a calm I didn’t know I needed. 

As we reached the top, the group burst into chatter, marvelling at the view. I hung back, catching my breath (who knew cardio could be this brutal?). A mini photoshoot followed, filled with laughter and jokes, trying to capture those candid smiles. Finally, the six of us settled onto the concrete floor, facing the sky. The conversations faded, replaced by the breathtaking silence of nature’s finest art show, and we sat there, soaking in the glory of the moment.

The sunset painted the sky in streaks of fiery orange and crimson, casting a warm golden glow that bathed everything in its light. A soft stroke of pink and coral intertwined with the fiery hues that created an ethereal gradient which seemed to pulse with the last warmth of the day. The edges of the sky cooled into a delicate blush of twilight. It wasn’t just the scenic beauty that tugged my heart, but the people I was with. 

It was only then, that I realised how much I wanted this and the reason this trip had a special place in my heart.

Have you ever breathed a sigh of relief when the main character from the book you are reading has resolved the conflict and sleeps in peace for the first time in many days? Thinking it’s all over? Things are now fine, life is restored to as it was before the hurricane of events wrecked it all. Yes, that’s exactly how I felt. Except there was a plot twist. This peace and quiet was the calm before the storm and I was about to get caught up in a whirlwind, much dangerous than the nature’s wrath. What can be more haunting than your own mind turning against you and you are stuck on the loosing side not knowing that screaming for help isn’t the option anymore. Turns out there was still 30% of the book left and this was somehow necessary for character development. 

I was a bruised soldier on a vacation. Little did I know that it was just the start; of the universe hurtling more life lessons at me. It was only Day 2 at the writing retreat and I was confronted with emotions I once longed to feel. It was everything I ever wanted. The kind of mornings I wish I woke up to. And believe me, this night owl had no pain transforming into an early bird. After a relaxing yoga session that always fired me up out of sleep, having me wide awake and excited for the day, I looked forward to our morning session. The writing sessions started after breakfast and I couldn’t ask for any other version of a perfect morning. 

The discussions bounced between personal experiences and the craft of writing. I sat like a wide-eyed kid, who seemed to have caught sight of something so out of ordinary, that the after-effects lingered long past bedtime. 

The sun set at a steady pace and my mind was unusually quiet. But my heart seemed to have a different take on this. As we sat, wordlessly watching the sunset, my heart wanted to hold on to this forever, to make it last until I was wrinkled and grey, to latch on to this fleeting moment like it was the last life boat to save myself from being lost in the debris of shipwreck. 

I wanted to freeze time in this exact moment, to hold on to the peace and hope I found here, so I wouldn’t have to return to the suffocating routine that I’d managed to forget the minute I stepped into this sanctuary. I barely knew what it meant to want something as deeply as I wanted to be a writer and to work in the publishing industry. When it was the time to choose, I let myself be swallowed by fear and agreed to the safe option. Study law, they said. You can work on your passion on the side, and everything will fall into place. But it never did. From the very first day, I was lost—uninterested in everything that was supposed to matter. Being trapped in a place where I didn’t belong tore at my soul, and I began to question if I was smart enough, good enough, or even capable of pretending to care. 

I didn’t care if we were behind on the syllabus, or if not reading for class had dire consequences. I just didn’t care.

Thrown into a circle of friends whose passion for law burned bright, I felt more out of place than ever. They lived for what I despised, and they revelled in college life while I merely survived it. My confidence shattered, I retreated into the shadows, choosing invisibility as my refuge. Eventually, I faded completely, disappearing from classes, from the life that was never really mine. If an artist were to study me, they’d see desperation seeping from every pore on my skin, a silent scream for a life that wasn’t this one.

But at the retreat, I glimpsed a different future—the life I could have if I dared to chase my dreams without a safety net. I was ready to risk everything, to dive headfirst into uncertainty. Yet when it all crumbled, the desperation only intensified. How could I resign myself to a life that felt like a lie? Why was I stuck in a routine that wasn’t meant for me? And what was so wrong about refusing to play it safe?

My cries were heard, but never understood. 

The crimson hues lingered a little longer after the sun disappeared somewhere behind the mountains and it was time to head back. On the way back, my throat burned and my eyes tried to hold back on tears. If I were to cry, I wouldn’t do it out loud. Maybe I would have felt lighter if I did but I didn’t know how to articulate my emotions. All I recognised was the brewing frustration and rage. I want to lie on the floor and throw my hands and legs in the air, violently kicking and punching the air, like a kid in a supermarket who was refused a candy. 

Realising what it truly meant to be with the right people shattered something deep within me, a longing I had buried for far too long. This group, so different from one another, yet bound by the love for literature, tore down walls I didn’t even know existed. With them around, I found a piece of myself I had almost given up on. It was a glimpse of the life I had always dreamed of—just out of reach. 

As I walked back to my room, my heart felt too heavy to carry, and the tears I had been holding back came rushing out. That night, the mountains stood witness to my sorrow, each sob echoing back to me as if they understood my pain. And yet, amidst the tears, there was a strange comfort, a warmth that held me close, rocking me gently until I finally drifted into a deep slumber.

***

Writing this prose for the first time was cathartic. 

The second draft made me feel vulnerable and exposed. 

The third draft had me thinking, “what will people around me think of this being on the Internet.” 

The fourth draft, I realised, this is my story to tell. 

The final draft, was letting it go.