I was sad. My first trip to Samtse loomed ahead, and the thought of unfamiliar faces, places, and experiences filled me with unease. Deep inside, something felt amiss, as if I were waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it was the fear of venturing into the unknown—alone.
With a little help from my brother, I boarded a direct bus from Thimphu to Samtse. I had never felt lonelier. To make matters worse, I hadn’t even said goodbye to my best friend, Ugyen Lhamo Tshering. I told myself I would call her once I arrived.
The road was rough, the weather unforgiving. I burrowed deeper into my coat, hiding the quiet tears that traced my cheeks. The journey stretched endlessly, filled with the clanking of the bus engine and the relentless blare of distorted music. By the time we reached Tshimatsham, I felt as though I had aged a lifetime, my ears numb from the noise, my teeth rattled loose from the jarring ride.
Stepping out, I cursed the cold under my breath and hurried into the nearest restaurant. I squeezed into a spot near the Bukhari, shamelessly nudging someone aside. The warmth seeped into my bones as I ordered suja, followed by bathup and a double omelet. Just as I was about to take another bite, a bus horn blared. Panicked, I rushed outside, only to realize it wasn’t mine—it was another bus pulling in.
I watched as passengers spilled out, wrapped in layers against the biting air. But my gaze wasn’t on them—it was fixed on someone still seated inside. A girl, no older than twenty-one, sat by the window, lost in thought. Even from a distance, I could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. She was breathtaking, yet inexplicably sad. What sorrow could weigh so heavily on someone so beautiful?
I had no time to ponder. Our bus was leaving. Paying quickly, I climbed aboard, but just before stepping in, our eyes met. I offered her a brief smile.
And then, we were off.
Her face lingered in my mind, haunting me. My seatmate must have noticed my distant expression because he made no attempt at conversation. I drifted into sleep, rocked by the monotony of the engine, my stomach full.
In my dream, she was there. She was smiling.
“Hello,” she mouthed. But I couldn’t hear her.
“Hello,” she repeated, her voice more insistent.
A nudge on my shoulder jolted me awake.
We had arrived at Kharbandi. I stepped off to stretch my legs when another bus pulled in behind ours. And there she was again, looking out from her window.
I smiled. She smiled back.
Encouraged, I approached. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she replied.
“Where is this bus headed?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.
“Samtse,” she said.
“For work?”
“I’m going for training.”
“NIE?” I feigned surprise.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m taking the B.Ed. course.”
A surge of happiness coursed through me. A potential companion at NIE.
My bus rumbled to life. I had no choice but to say, “Bye,” before running to catch it.
We continued toward Phuentsholing, stopping briefly at the frontier checkpoint before speeding down the Indian highway. By the time we reached Birpara, I was famished. I dug into a plate of chicken and rice, but when another bus pulled up behind us, my appetite faded.
She was there again.
I hurried to find her, but she was asleep, curled up in her seat. I hesitated, debating whether to wake her. Instead, I quietly placed a small packet of snacks beside her, along with a note:
“Hi, had a nice sleep? You missed lunch. Have these instead. —The guy from the other bus.”
With that, my bus departed. She was left behind.
By the time we arrived in Samtse, exhaustion had dulled my emotions. I collected my luggage, hailed a taxi, and set off for NIE. Just as we pulled away, I saw her again. This time, her eyes were shining.
I waved. She waved back.
That night, in a cramped room temporarily assigned to new students, I dreamt of her. The next morning, as I stood in line for registration, I spotted her ahead of me.
Our eyes met.
She showed no sign of recognition.
Now, we sit in the same classroom. I no longer seek out conversations with the girls. But sometimes, in the quiet of my mind, I see her face—the face I once found solace in, the face I still carry in my dreams.
Her true face.
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