Cyclist, hiker, and scientist living in the Himalaya.
I build, repair, and wander — mostly in search of quiet roads, good coffee, and better stories.
On the third morning, the hallway didn't feel like a tunnel. It felt like a lobby. Mira found her feet hitting the centre of the linoleum tiles with a precision that required no conscious thought. The fluorescent hum had moved from her ears to her…
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The two who refused did not vanish into static. There was no flicker of pixels, no sound of a blown fuse. When the woman said, "Terminate," she didn’t even look up from the steady, rhythmic scrawl of her pen. She simply adjusted the alignment of…
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The message did not arrive; it was discovered. Mira found it while her phone was resting on the scarred laminate of her kitchen table. The screen didn't flash. There was no chime. One moment the glass was a black mirror reflecting the dim, amber light…
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I arrived in Orchha without doing anything in particular, which seemed to be the correct way to arrive there. The road ended gently, as if unsure whether it ought to continue, and the town took over without announcement. I stood for a while under an…
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I have noticed that hubris rarely announces itself. It does not arrive with a trumpet or a villain’s laugh. It comes quietly, dressed as confidence, speaking the language of experience. It says: I’ve been here before. It says: I know how this ends. And slowly,…
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