Winter in Kathmandu bites deeper than you'd expect. It's the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you crave warmth—tea, a blanket, or both. The dormitory was a bleak little building on the edge of a quiet street, barely alive except for the faint hum of an old radiator in the corner of my room. I'd just moved in, a new face in the crowded hallways of Tribhuvan University, and the walls still smelled of fresh paint and unfamiliarity.
That evening, around 6 o'clock, I decided to venture out for tea. My breath came out in clouds as I walked the narrow street lined with dim, flickering streetlights. The city had a strange quietness to it tonight like it was holding its breath. After wandering for what felt like an eternity, I found a small tea stall tucked under a drooping banyan tree.
The man behind the counter smiled as I approached, a thin-lipped smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Namaste, dai," I greeted him, shoving my freezing hands into my jacket pockets.
"Namaste," he replied, his voice warm and raspy, like gravel crunching underfoot. He had a thick mustache and wore a woolen cap that barely covered his ears.
"You look cold," he said, pouring steaming chai into a clay cup.
"Yeah, it's freezing out here," I replied, cupping the warm tea in my hands. "You run this place alone?"
"Mostly," he said, leaning on the counter. "My name's Josef. I live nearby with my wife and two kids."
His words were casual, but something was unsettling about his tone. Like he was choosing his words too carefully, weighing them before they left his mouth.
"I just moved here for my first semester," I said, sipping the tea. It was strong, spiced, perfect. "I didn't see your stall earlier. Do you set up late in the day?"
Josef tilted his head slightly, his mustache twitching. "Something like that. Not everyone notices this place right away."
I frowned but said nothing.
We talked for a while—about the city, the university, the biting cold. Josef had a calm demeanor, but his eyes were restless, constantly darting to the shadows beyond the stall. It was subtle, but I noticed. And then there was the way he avoided answering my questions directly as if he were trying to steer the conversation away from certain topics.
"Good tea," I said, finishing the last sip.
He smiled, this time more genuine. "Thank you. You'll be back, I'm sure."
Something about the way he said it made my skin prickle.
Back in my dorm room, I tried to focus on my textbooks. My first semester exams were coming up, and I couldn't afford to slack off. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the strange unease that had settled in my chest.
I kept glancing at the clock on my desk. It was 9:30 p.m. when I finally gave up, slumped into bed, and let the exhaustion take over.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I thought about was Josef's tea. That strange little stall had wormed its way into my mind, and by 6 o'clock that evening, I was walking back down the same road, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
There it was, under the same banyan tree, exactly as I'd left it. Josef was there too, wiping the counter with a worn cloth.
"Back again," he said, grinning.
"Yeah," I replied, settling into the wooden stool. "Your tea's addictive."
He chuckled, pouring me a fresh cup.
"Tell me," I said, trying to sound casual. "Why do you only open in the evening?"
Josef froze for just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable. Then he shrugged. "That's just how it is. The evening's when people need tea the most."
I checked my watch as I sipped the tea. 6:10 p.m. The seconds ticked by as we talked, and I felt that same strange unease creeping back. When I finished my tea and looked at my watch again, it was still 6:10.
I frowned, tapping the glass face.
"Something wrong?" Josef asked, his voice neutral.
"Uh, yeah. I think my watch is broken."
He glanced at his watch and smiled faintly. "It's 6 o'clock."
"What?" I stared at him, then at my watch. "But I've been here for at least fifteen minutes."
Josef didn't respond, just kept wiping the counter with that same calm expression.
I paid the bill and turned to leave, but something made me stop and glance back. The tea stall was gone.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. The banyan tree stood there, bare and quiet, but the stall, Josef, everything else had vanished.
My heart raced as I stumbled back to the dormitory, my mind a whirl of confusion and fear.
Back in my room, I locked the door, sat at my desk, and tried to focus on anything but what had just happened. But the harder I tried, the more my thoughts spiraled.
When the knock came, it was so faint that I thought I'd imagined it.
"Who's there?" I called out, my voice shaky.
No answer.
I opened the door, and there was no one there. Just the empty hallway, silent and cold. But then I saw something that made my stomach drop.
Footprints. Wet, muddy footprints led away from my door and disappeared into the shadows.
The next time I opened my eyes, I wasn't in my dormitory anymore. I was on a ship.
It was massive, creaking under the weight of the ocean, but eerily empty. The air smelled of salt and rust, and the only sound was the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull.
I walked the length of the deck, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"
No response.
And then I saw it—a clay cup, identical to the ones from Josef's tea stall, sitting on a wooden barrel.
My hands trembled as I picked it up. It was still warm.
"How the hell did I get here?" I whispered, my breath fogging in the cold air.
"Looking for someone?"
I spun around, and there he was. Josef. But his face was wrong—his eyes were sunken and his smile too wide.
"What's going on?" I demanded.
He didn't answer, just gestured toward the edge of the ship.
I walked to the railing and looked down. The water was black and endless, and my reflection was back at me. But it wasn't my face. It was Josef's.
"Why are you doing this?" I screamed, backing away from him.
"This isn't about why," Josef said, his voice calm. "It's about when."
"What does that even mean?"
"You'll understand soon enough," he replied, turning and walking away.
I chased after him, but the ship seemed to stretch endlessly, the hallway warping and twisting until I couldn't tell up from down.
I woke up back in my dorm room, drenched in sweat.
Was it a dream?
The knock came again, louder this time.
When I opened the door, the hallway was empty. But there, on the floor, was a clay cup, still warm to the touch.
And scrawled on the rim, in a language I didn't recognize, was a single word.
What was it trying to tell me?.....
The End
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