Love is a Fatal Crisis

This was the first time I had traveled so far from home and despite the exhaustion from the journey, I couldn’t help but feel a little excited. The train ride was long, but I spent most of the time staring out the window, captivated by the passing scenery.

A full day and night passed, yet I still felt energized, my eyes glued to the vast mountains and dense forests outside. The towering trees and rugged terrain reminded me of home, though these landscapes were even more remote and imposing.

I couldn’t help but think about how easy it would be to get lost here. The mountains all looked the same, the trees stretched endlessly toward the sky and the thick canopy blocked out the sun. Without a clear view of the horizon, you couldn’t tell north from south or east from west.

The only person I’d ever known who could navigate such terrain without getting lost was my grandfather. He had an uncanny ability to find his way out of any forest, no matter how unfamiliar. Aside from him, I’d never met anyone else who could do it.

***

After 56 grueling hours on the train, the journey still wasn’t over. We arrived in the city, but Nathan informed me we’d need to take a shuttle to a smaller county.

By noon, we were on the move again. I followed Nathan, lugging my bag as we boarded an old shuttle bus that rattled and groaned with every bump in the road. From there, the journey turned into a blur of transfers—another bus, then an ox cart and more modes of transportation than I could count.

Each leg of the trip chipped away at my patience. The further we went, the more I regretted agreeing to come. This place was just as remote as my own hometown, if not more so. If I had known it would be this bad, I wouldn’t have come at all.

Finally, as night fell, the ox cart stopped near a small, dimly lit village. Looking at the warm glow of the houses in the distance, I let out a sigh of relief.

“Is your house there?” I asked, pointing toward the village. “We’re finally here, right?”

Just as I was about to collapse onto a nearby rock, Nathan grabbed my arm and pulled me back up.

“Not yet,” he said with a sheepish grin. “We still have to climb over that mountain. But don’t worry, by morning, we’ll be home in time for breakfast. I’ve already told my mom to expect us.”

His words hit me like a brick. Climb a mountain? Overnight?

The exhaustion from the trip was catching up to me and the thought of trekking through the dark wilderness was almost too much to bear.

I glanced back at the village. “Why don’t we ask someone there to let us stay the night? It’s too late to be wandering around out here. It’s not safe.”

I expected Nathan to agree—it was the obvious choice—but to my surprise, he shook his head.

“No, we can’t do that,” he said firmly. “We don’t know these people. Why would they let us stay overnight? Besides, my grandpa is already on his way to meet us. If we don’t show up, he’ll worry.”

His reasoning didn’t sit well with me, especially since I hadn’t seen a single sign of life on the trail. How had he even contacted his grandpa? There was no cell service here—not for me, at least.

The uneasy feeling I’d been suppressing started to bubble up.

“Nathan,” I said cautiously, “you’re not… planning to sell me or something, are you? My phone doesn’t have any signal, so how did you contact your family?”

The words were out before I could stop myself and I immediately regretted them. It was the realization that I might have been too impulsive, tipping him off to my suspicions.

Nathan burst into laughter, his expression one of amused disbelief.

“Maya, what are you talking about?” he said, grinning. “Why would I do something like that? My phone doesn’t have a signal either. I spoke to my family before we left and told them when we’d arrive. That’s why I’ve been pushing to keep moving.”

He paused, his tone softening. “Really, can’t we just keep going? My grandpa’s old and if he’s out here waiting for us and something happens to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

His sincerity disarmed me, at least for the moment. His mention of his grandfather reminded me of my own—how he’d always insist on walking down the mountain to meet me, no matter how late I came home.

I sighed, relenting. “Fine,” I said. “But we’re taking it slow.”

Nathan nodded eagerly, leading the way as I followed behind.

The mountain trail was overgrown, as if no one had walked it in years. The flickering light of Nathan’s torch barely illuminated the path ahead and the dense weeds made it impossible to see where we were stepping.

The unease I’d felt earlier hadn’t completely left me. Something about this whole situation didn’t feel right.

But for now, I kept my thoughts to myself and focused on placing one foot in front of the other.