The morning of the departure was chaos orchestrated by a symphony of shouting parents, blaring bus horns, and the frantic zipping of overstuffed backpacks. Ji-Ho, having successfully navigated the perilous task of getting his father's signature (a process involving a solemn promise to not break any bones or disgrace the family name), stood vibrating with excitement.
"Did you pack the extra socks?" Sekhar asked, looking over his meticulously typed checklist.
"Who cares about socks!" Ganga yelled, wrestling a bag of suspiciously loud snacks from her grandmother. "I've got three kinds of chips! Survival is about priorities!"
Narendra flexed, his backpack looking comically small on his broad frame. "I only need my strength and my charm."
"Let's hope the mountains are impressed," Jyoti deadpinned, adjusting her camera.
Ji-Ho's eyes scanned the crowd until they found Thanu. She was listening patiently as her father gave her a last-minute lecture, likely on the geological composition of Misty Valley. She caught Ji-Ho's eye and rolled hers playfully. His heart did a familiar, happy flip.
As they boarded the bus, a new presence caused a ripple. A girl with sharp, intelligent eyes and a confident posture stepped on. She was from the senior class.
"That's Myra," Ganga whispered, her voice full of gossipy awe. "Topper of the tenth grade. Debating champion. Rumor is she's here to write a report for the school paper."
Myra found a seat near the front, coolly indifferent to the middle-school chaos around her. But as Ji-Ho shuffled past, her gaze lingered on him for a fraction of a second too long. It was a calculating, curious look.
The journey was a five-hour symphony of off-key singing, shared snacks, and Sekhar complaining about the "aerodynamic inefficiency" of the bus. They arrived at Hillview Camp as the afternoon sun painted the peaks in hues of orange and purple. The air was crisp, scented with pine and cold stone.
The boys' dorm was a cacophony of thrown pillows and claims on the least-lumpy beds. As Ji-Ho unpacked, his fingers brushed against a small, clumsily wrapped package at the bottom of his bag. He opened it. Inside was a small, hand-carved wooden whistle, shaped like a cricket. A tiny note was tucked alongside it.
"For when you get lost. Or just want to annoy someone. - T."
He stared at it, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. It was the first gift she had ever given him.
The first full day was dedicated to a "team-building" hike. The group, along with Myra and her quiet friend, Riya, trekked up a winding path. Ji-Ho, emboldened by the mountain air and the whistle in his pocket, naturally fell into step beside Thanu.
"The view is... wow," he said, gesturing vaguely at the valley below.
"It's the result of tectonic shifts over millions of years," Myra stated, appearing beside them as if materialized from the mist. She adjusted her glasses. "Fascinating, really. The limestone composition is particularly unique to this region."
Thanu gave a polite smile. "That's... interesting."
"Myra," the senior said, extending a hand to Ji-Ho. "I've heard about your cricket prowess. Unconventional technique, but effective." Her handshake was firm.
Ji-Ho, flustered, mumbled his name. Myra's attention felt like a spotlight. Thanu, meanwhile, had subtly slowed her pace, putting a small distance between them.
The love triangle was born not with a dramatic clash, but with a geological fact and a firm handshake.
That evening, around a crackling bonfire, the suspense began to simmer. The camp guide, a rugged man named Bhandari, laid down the one non-negotiable rule.
"This is not a city park," he said, his voice gravelly and serious. "The trails are marked for a reason. No one, and I mean no one, is to venture onto the old path behind the main lodge. It's unstable and leads to a network of old, unmapped caves. We lost a hiker there years ago. Never found him."
A collective shiver ran through the group. The shadows beyond the firelight seemed to grow deeper, more menacing.
Later, as everyone prepared for bed, Ji-Ho found Thanu looking out at the silhouette of the forbidden mountain.
"Spooky, huh?" he said, coming to stand beside her.
"A little," she admitted. "But also... kind of compelling. Don't you want to know what's really up there?"
He looked at her, her face illuminated by the distant lodge lights. Her curiosity was a spark in her eyes. "With you? Maybe."
She smiled and nudged him. "Don't get any ideas, hero. I don't want to be the reason you break your promise to your dad."
As she walked back to the girls' dorm, Ji-Ho noticed Myra watching their interaction from a nearby bench, a small, unreadable smile on her lips.
Back in his bunk, Ji-Ho held the wooden whistle. It was a token of affection, a promise of fun. But Bhandari's warning was a cold whisper in the back of his mind. And the presence of two very different girls—one who gave him a whistle, and one who seemed to be studying him like a complex equation—created a new, confusing tension.
The trip had just begun, and the mountains were already full of whispers, both alluring and dangerous. The comedy of his friends, the splendor of the budding romance, the suspense of the forbidden path, and the delicate tension of the love triangle were all in place, ready to unfold under the watchful eyes of the Misty Valley.