We walk, sometimes in silence, sometimes with me chattering on like I haven't spoken to anyone in three days. With the cool night breeze in our hair, we walk towards the teak forest, one of my favourite spots in the vicinity. It is a small clump of trees that sometimes vibrates with the sounds of spring or sometimes sleeps in the heavy emptiness of autumn. But always quiet, always aloof, always drawing me closer with the silent chant of nature spirits.
We've never crossed the invisible boundary of that forest. Countless times, we've stood there, gazing at the teak trees that sometimes loom tall and dignified and sometimes sway like a brown and green listless ocean. We've spent countless minutes, invariably silenced by the wonderment of it's sheerness. At once welcoming yet foreboding, the forest stands at the end of our favorite stretch of a wide road that glistens with a zillion mica stars lying embedded on its smooth tarred surface.
One lonely night, I decided to walk with my eyes closed till we reached the forest, with you, dear brother, looking to make sure I don't wander off my straight path. A few meters of unsure steps later, I was hesitant to move on, scared of falling off a cliff that I knew didn't exist or tripping over stones that I knew weren't strewn across the road. We were laughing like children, lost in the infantile game, when I began sensing the forest seep into me. It flowed at us and then through us, until we finally reached it's fringes and stood there for a few minutes, lost in the fervent silence of our souls, pulsing with every heartbeat of life of that forest.