Bija II

“Is this seat taken?”

“Oh,” I pick up my purse from the neighboring seat and place it on the open food tray in front of me. “No, feel free to sit here.”

“Thanks.” The smell of him wafts into my senses before he does, and I catch a hint of Irish Spring mixed with the dusty outdoors, mildly concealed under layers of laundered cotton. He shrugs off a sweater as he settles down, and I notice from the corner of my eye that he nods kindly at the couple next to us.

“Traveling to Mussoorie?” his own eyes seem to be on me now.

“Hm?” I pull out my earphones and turn to look at him properly. “Yes, I uh-,”

My words catch in my throat.

He’s stunning.

Floppy chestnut hair hangs loosely over his honey-colored eyes. His curls frame a sturdy jawline and an even stronger set of cheekbones, and just above a tight chin dimple, his full peachy lips draw into a smile. I nod before my eyes can linger on him a second longer and turn my attention to the rucksack on his lap.

“Yes. I'm traveling to Mussoorie. You too?” I point to the I-♥-hill-stations keychain on his bag and he snorts with a chuckle as his eyes land on what I’m gesturing towards.

“A little farther, actually. I’m headed to Nainbagh to visit my family.”

“Oh wow. Nainbagh is beautiful.” My reflexive affirmation covers for the tiny, unexpected pang of disappointment I feel about us having separate destinations.

“You’ve been to Nainbagh?” his eyes widen as he reckons me with interest.

“No, no. Unfortunately not,” I laugh. “But it pops up everywhere online, and it was all over my Instagram when I started planning this trip, so I know some stuff about it. I settled on Mussoorie as my final destination after talking to a couple of friends, but I’d just about booked Nainbagh, you know. It’s an amazing coincidence that you’re headed there.”

He jingles the keychain and smiles wider. “It’s all serendipity, beautiful woman. You should definitely visit someday.”

“I know. I definitely plan to,” I say, pretending like he didn’t just casually call me beautiful. My insides are fluttery and my face hot, and it feels like I’m ducking away from a heatwave when I return to my phone and press play on Ilahi, sinking into its rhythmic bliss. I sidle closer to the window and lean against it. “Going to take a nap,” I glance at him. “If there’s food, please wake me up.”

He chuckles harder at that and gives me a thumbs up with large, chiseled fingers that I immediately know connect to an arm taut with muscle, which I am certain connects to a chest peppered with soft, brown curls...

I silently scold myself and shut my eyes to get some solace, some subconscious space, any sort of relief, from the godlike man sitting next to me.

“Hello,” a voice seeps through my brain. It’s tiny against the sound of colossal waves crashing over me. There is water everywhere, and I’m suddenly swimming in an eruption of sparkles formed by a million little bubbles fizzing in bright blue ocean.

I’m sinking further and further into the depths. It is less scary the deeper I go, less dark even, the water turning more and more serene looking, its shades of blue sunnier and more turquoise down here...

…and then the motions begin to feel slow and heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy, like the ocean is pressing down lazily, languidly…

…and turning into jelly? Or ice? Something solid, cold, and... is it water? The blue feels sticky now, like slime. It’s poking my arm, and it pokes me not once but twice… of course, I’m gleeful that there’s a majestic creature around here somewhere, trying to reach me, to communicate with me…I know there's life here, in the realm of—

“Hello. Miss? There’s food.” I zap awake. The man next to me looks perplexed. His finger is hovering in the air from having just nudged me.

I sigh deeply. I take a groggy moment to assess my surroundings and enter reality, noticing a food server making his way down the aisle a few seats ahead.

“Sorry. Thanks so much,” I mumble between a yawn.

“You were dreaming about a video game.”

“Oh, god.” I thank my wits for not having blurted anything else, but then again, who knew what else I’d said only to never find out because of this man’s politeness? “Did I mention Subnautica?”

“Maybe?”

“Gosh. Unbelievable.”

He hands me my earphones that had fallen off while I’d slept, grinning with a shrug. “Nothing embarrassing. You’re probably starving. Do you know we dream the most when we’re hungry? Besides, I’ve heard it’s a good game.”

“No, I did not know that. Thank god for the food cart then. And thanks for…,” I hover my hands over my earphones and then myself, “all this.”

“All good. Just make sure not to yell in your sleep next time.” He laughs at my horrified expression and then flaps at the air to shoo away the teasing apologetically. I grumble, both in mind and stomach, and reach for my hand sanitizer.

“I’ll be back from the bathroom,” he says as he stretches. It’s only when he stands up that I notice how tall he actually is. His head towers well above the open metal compartments hanging from the ceiling of the bus and his body almost practically unfurls, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, into a statuesque, sculpted figure, torso rippling with astonishing breadth and muscle. I gape at the sight. Before I know it, he's grabbing his rucksack, sweater and phone in one swift motion and walking away.

It's been about five minutes now. The bus has stopped at the edge of a small lake by a waterfall and none of us knows why. Most of the older passengers are beginning to get restless and I’m curious to know if we’re waiting for more people to get on. Or off. This isn’t a regular bus stop though.

I’m more confused about our driver, who is currently out on the lake, whispering frantically to the bus conductor by his side, binoculars to his eyes. There’s already a bad taste in my mouth from imminent danger that I can sense but not comprehend. And I don’t seem to have anyone to share it with. Funnily enough, the man next to me hasn’t returned to his seat. He probably doesn’t even know anything considering he’s in the—

Wait a minute.

A valve inside me unlocks. The most morbid, unsettling feeling crashes through me, paralyzing my mind, my body, my sense of rationality. I feel queasy. The image of the man grabbing his rucksack, sweater and phone, all of his belongings, to take to the bathroom plagues my mind, and yet, it's not as disconcerting as the fact disturbing me the most.

This is a local Pahadi bus.

There are no bathrooms.

An ugly sound escapes me. My mind flashes back to the visceral dream I’ve just awoken from, reminding me of crashing waves, a slimy tentacle finding its way to me, poking my side…

I look out the window then, screaming in a shrill, horrified cry that everyone in the bus rapidly joins in sync as we stare, together, at a merman emerge from the lake, picture-perfect body dripping in a mucus like substance, manacles looming over the bus like giant serpents.

My last remaining memory before a tentacle comes crashing down is of a keychain left behind on the seat next to me. My vision registers its etching, correctly this time, before everything fades to black.

I-♥-gill-saltations