Carrie watched seabirds spiral beyond the porthole glass from her quarters, tiny silhouettes skimming the glittering surface below. The ship’s engine pulsed through the floor, a heartbeat not her own. Salt air fogged the windows, obscuring the waves and the sky. She pressed her fingers against the cool glass, her eyes tracking the birds’ arcs. They moved with purpose, fierce and free, unlike her thoughts.

She sat on the bed, arms folded across her chest as if they might hold her together. The room held its silence, pierced only by the thrum of the ship and the caw of seabirds beyond the steel walls. It had been three weeks since she’d woken in the stranger’s presence—three weeks of stillness, no words, yet tension bound them like a thread stretched taut.

Despite not speaking his name, Carrie sensed a change in his look, as if he saw something she hadn’t noticed in her. Stillness reigned, not menacing, a forest’s calm before the storm.

Carrie wanted to keep her distance, but the man’s behavior disarmed her. He offered no words and did not intrude—just existed in that quiet space beside her, never pushing. His stillness, though calm, held a complexity she tried to interpret.

She had never known that kind of calm. In her hometown, acceptance was a foreign word. Teachers dismissed her, students mocked her, and home was no refuge. Her mother’s punishments came wrapped in scripture, a voice choked with righteousness. Carrie remembered the sting of being locked in the Prayer Closet after dropping a fork at dinner—a “lesson in humility,” her mother had said.

When her powers came, they surged like a breath held too long. For a moment, she had hope. Maybe she could change everything—reshape who she was, but Prom Night shattered that illusion. The blood, the lights, the screaming—it all burned in her memory. She vowed never to touch that part of herself again. She couldn’t trust it or herself.

After weeks of silence that wrapped the room like fog, Carrie cleared her throat. “Um… hey.”

The man didn’t move at first. His head soon tilted, eyes closed in meditation.

She shifted her weight, unsure. “I… I don’t know what to call you.”

One eye opened, gaze steady. “I have a name,” he said, “but it’s challenging. My friends call me Baki.”

Carrie blinked, caught by the word friends. “Baki.”

He nodded, then studied her, the silence stretching just enough to make her uncomfortable. “Still wondering why I helped you?”

Carrie drew back, fingers knotting in her lap. No one addressed her without pity or fear. Kindness came with strings or silence.

Baki exhaled, eyes unwavering. “I meant it—I couldn’t leave you there. When I brought you aboard, the captain was curious, but I told him you’d had a rough break. He saw it too and let you stay.”

Carrie backed up. “Wait… is this a kidnapping?”

He shook his head. “Call it a rescue.”

“And the authorities?”

“I’ll handle them. We’re crossing borders soon. I’ve got a visa. If they ask, I say you’re with me. They won’t question it.”

She frowned. “What’s a visa?”

“A permit that lets me live in another country.” He paused, then added, “Don’t worry. I know how to talk to people.”

Though uncertain, Carrie trusted Baki’s plan. Still, unease clung to her—questions she didn’t answer, shadows she didn’t identify.

Daylight thinned as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Its warmth faded from the deck. Shadows stretched across the ship as lanterns flickered to life, their glow no match for the dark that settled in.

The ship slept behind her. Carrie crept to the bow, where the sea opened like a dark canvas under the moonlight. The stars blinked faint and farther, the waves catching just enough silver to shimmer. Spray kissed her skin, cold and briny, and the wind tugged at her hair. Each wave crashing below posed a question she left unanswered.

Memories clawed forward—blood, fire, screams she couldn’t forget. Carrie bowed her head.

God, I didn’t mean to hurt them or her. Her shoulders trembled. Salt stung her lips. All I wanted was acceptance. If You’re here, why does love feel like a punishment?

She waited for an answer, but none came.

On the twenty-fifth day, land broke the horizon. The vessel shifted course toward the Meghna River, its hull cutting through calmer water. Carrie watched passengers gather on the deck from her window, their faces glowing. She gritted her teeth. What did everyone expect when she bore destruction?

The door opened, pulling her from her thoughts. Baki stepped inside and adjusted his duffel strap. “In a few hours, we should reach our stop.”

Carrie met his gaze and nodded.

The vessel drifted through the Padma and Brahmaputra rivers before drifting toward shore. Sunset spilled orange and rose across the water, bathing the skyline in fading fire. The deck fell silent, save for the metal’s clang as the crew lowered the gangway. Passengers crowded forward, eyes wide, and hearts racing. One by one, they stepped down into the unknown.

Baki and Carrie departed last. He inhaled, the ground beneath his feet still unfamiliar. “We made it. How are you doing?”

Carrie rubbed her temples, the dull ache in her skull still pulsing. “Not great. Where are we?”

“This is Guwahati,” Baki said. “It’s a city in Assam, India.”

He pulled a small pouch from his bag and offered it to her. “There’s some money and a map inside. Shaded areas are safe to explore. Avoid the ones marked with an X.”

Carrie took the pouch but said nothing.

Baki paused, his expression unreadable. “I have to return to Tibet.” A beat passed. “From here, your path is your own. I hope it leads you somewhere better.”

Carrie stayed rooted at the pier. Baki vanished into the city without a backward glance.

The trees rustled in the dusk breeze, leaves catching the sunset’s last copper hues. Across the river, squat buildings stood in silhouette—gray concrete softened by the glow, balconies strung with cloth that fluttered like tired sails. Somewhere nearby, metal clanked against wood. Carrie flinched, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

She glanced back at the boat bobbing in the glowing water. It still looked like the safest place.

Baki left her, but did not abandon her. Her next move defined this crucial moment.

Carrie spotted Baki ahead, several paces into the crowd. The sky behind him glowed crimson and gold, casting his figure in shadow. Heart pounding, she jogged, her boots thudding against the dock.

“Baki!” she called.

The man stopped, glancing over his shoulder as she caught up, breath catching in her throat. She held out the pouch and map he’d given her.

“I don’t know anyone here…” Carrie shook. “And I’m scared. I don’t want the money or the map. I want help.”

Baki studied her—not with judgment, but with stillness that tightened her chest. Carrie didn’t lower her eyes. Terror gripped her, yet her feet remained firm.

“I understand your uncertainty, but if you’d like, I can take you to someone in Tibet who might help,” he said. “If you come, I’ll keep you safe. You’re free to leave at any point. That decision is always yours. Keep the coins and the map. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”

His words lingered as Carrie stared at him, her fingers brushing the pouch at her side.

She didn’t speak the language. The signs meant nothing. People’s open, casual glances here were like codes she’d never crack. The unknown sights, sounds, and smells made her feel small and out of place.

Also, what if someone was still searching? A file with her name. A face matched to grainy footage. Somewhere, her past hunted for her.

She exhaled. “I want to come with you.”

Baki nodded. “Come, Carrie.”

She froze mid-step. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

“You told me. Back on the ship. While you slept.”

Carrie’s brow tightened. Troubled dreams and fractured memories plagued her.

“You said it once,” Baki added. “Soft, like you were trying to hold onto something.”

The girl searched his face, looking for the crack in his calm. It wasn’t there. Just the same steady expression, quiet as stone, but not cold. Watching, like he was waiting for her to decide if the answer was enough.

Carrie wasn’t sure. Still, she nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t press her. Just turned and started walking.

After a few heartbeats, she followed.

They moved through Guwahati’s streets as dusk turned into night. Laughter burst from food stalls where strangers gathered shoulder to shoulder, voices rising over metal pots clanging. Like smoke, sitar notes curled through the air.

Carrie stayed close to Baki, unsure if the pull in her chest was awe or unease.

After some time, she and Baki arrived at a three-story beige building nestled between taller concrete walls. Inside, Carrie paused. Warm light spilled across polished teak floors, glinting off brass fixtures and carved furniture with floral inlays. Potted palms stood in quiet corners, their fronds fanning beneath slow-turning ceiling fans. Jasmine scented the air.

She hadn’t expected this calmness. The building stood in stark contrast to the chaotic streets around it.

While Baki spoke with the receptionist, Carrie scanned the room. A few guests moved through the reception area, dressed in flowing fabrics she didn’t recognize—saris in deep greens and golds, tunics with embroidered hems, shawls that caught the light. Bold colors and intricate patterns hinted at untold stories.

Her gaze paused on the women. Many wore a small red dot between their brows. It drew her attention more than anything else. She lacked understanding of its meaning, yet sensed significance.

Once Baki called to her, Carrie moved toward him, curiosity still piqued. They walked down the hallway and stopped outside a door marked 199.

As they entered, Carrie paused, scanning the room.

Two twin beds stood side by side, their spreads tucked in. Between them sat a nightstand holding a digital alarm clock, a half-used candle, and a worn paperback titled Journeys Beyond the Veil.

The walls were pale and bare, save for a tall window whose light cut through the space. A corner desk leaned beneath it, its chair pushed in, waiting for someone who never arrived. Opposite the beds, a closet extended across the wall, its door ajar like a mouth mid-sentence. A bathroom loomed in the corner while antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and sterile.

Baki lowered his bag beside the left bed and stretched, a quiet crack from his spine. “Go ahead. Make yourself comfy.”

Carrie crossed the room to a couch beside the window. The cushions gave way beneath her as she folded her knees to her chest, pulling herself inward.

Baki yawned, rubbing his neck. “If you need anything, wake me up. Traveling takes it out of me. These bones? They dislike land sickness.”

Carrie fell silent as Baki climbed onto a bed. Within moments, he drifted off, his snores filling the room.

She curled into herself on the couch, arms around her legs. The cushions pressed against her limbs. This place offered no warmth, friends, or family. She wiped her cheeks, but the tears kept coming.

I miss Mama.

“Do you?” The voice slithered into her thoughts, jagged and cold. “Who wouldn't miss a woman armed with a kitchen knife and a Bible?”

Carrie flinched while the voice continued.

“She viewed you as a curse. She begged the Lord to cleanse you, and when that failed, she turned to fire. In the end, who burned? Not the Devil. Not you. Just her and her twisted world.”

Carrie glanced at Baki, who lay on his side, snoring. He gave me food and took me in.

“Kindness is a mask. He’s leading you to another man, isn’t he? Another shepherd. Another sacrifice.”

Carrie turned toward the window. Her reflection floated in the glass, blurred and wan.

Home.

That word once meant something. A cradle. A garden. Now, it reeked of ash and prayer. Of locked doors and blood on the tiles. Margaret’s voice still echoed through those walls.

What would she discover if she returned, assuming anything survived? Not arms or forgiveness. Only judgment.

“The fire in you isn't dead. It waits. And so does the wrath.”

Carrie said nothing. The voice dissolved, but its echo clung to her chest like smoke in her lungs.

***

The next day, she walked beside Baki beneath the morning heat, her silence tucked behind shaded eyes. They wandered through a maze of street markets, where saffron, cumin, and sandalwood curled together in the heavy air. Vendors stood beneath tarps that flapped in the breeze, shouting prices over pyramids of dried peppers and woven baskets.

Sunlight scattered across the stalls, catching on copper jewelry and bolts of embroidered fabric that rippled like water. Children ran through the legs and carts with wild laughter, while older women leaned over tables stacked with dates and sweet rice cakes.

She kept her eyes on Baki, refusing to let him out of her sight. As they progressed through the crowd, the energy shift struck her—a stillness pressed between the sounds. Three men near a fruit stall turned and stared.

Moments later, they stepped among the people behind them.

Her muscles tensed. The air grew dense.

Carrie’s fingers curled into her palms. Heat rose beneath her skin. The power stirred in her chest like a beast stretching awake.

Not here. Not now.

She clenched her jaw and matched Baki’s pace.

“Carrie, are you alright?” Baki asked.

Her hands shook. “Look behind us.”

Baki glanced back, his expression tightened. He stepped in front of her, body squared toward the approaching men.

Carrie held her breath. Tension gathered in Baki’s frame, then a low growl rose from his throat, and it didn’t sound human.

One man recoiled while the others hesitated, eyes wide. They left, becoming one with the market crowd.

Baki let his shoulders fall and turned to her. “We don’t need to worry about them. Once we reach the road, we’ll catch a taxi.”

Carrie didn’t speak. The growl echoed in her chest—low, primal, but she wasn’t afraid, not of him, but of what he might be. “Where to?”

“The airport. It’s the only way into Tibet.” He paused. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“I’ve never been on an airplane, so I don’t know.”

“Every journey starts somewhere. Come.”

***

A 27-minute taxi ride led Carrie and Baki through the shifting layers of the city—noise, color, dust, and blur—until the landscape thinned and the road spilled into concrete gates and glass walls.

Guwahati International Airport rose ahead, gleaming and busy. Carrie exited the car, and the air smelled of engine fumes. A billboard above the entrance read, We Care for Your Safety, its bold letters hovering like a warning.

Travelers streamed around her. Some rushed with rolling suitcases; others engaged in slow discussion. A little girl clung to her father’s pant leg. A woman readjusted her shawl before exiting via the automatic doors.

Carrie stood still on the curb, her heart rising and falling. Every sound echoed like it knew she didn’t belong. She followed Baki past the sliding glass doors.

Inside, movement pressed in from all directions.

Travelers clustered at check-in counters, voices overlapping as they gestured with tickets, passports, and impatience. Overhead, monitors ticked through arrival and departure times, lines flickering with updates she didn’t understand.

A buzz of static announcements, laughter, crying toddlers, and rumbling suitcase wheels filled the air. It crawled into her ears, too loud, too fast. Carrie pressed her hands over her ears. Still, the noise throbbed through her skull.

A light overhead flickered. Then another.

The hum in her chest deepened. Her fingers prickled. Something inside her unraveled. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Stop.

The current coiled under her skin, aching for release—

“Carrie.”

She opened her eyes. The lights stopped flickering.

Her heartbeat slowed, but the air still tasted strange, and the edge had softened.

Baki looked her in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“This is too much.”

“Give yourself time. Just breathe.”

“Hey!” a voice called. A security guard approached with a hand raised. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Baki said. “I’m helping my granddaughter. She’s nervous about flying.”

The guard stared at Carrie. “She seems familiar.”

“How so?”

“She reminds me of that girl from the U.S.—the one involved in that incident where a whole town caught fire.”

Carrie’s stomach dropped. Her neck flared with heat. Was it on her face? Could he see it?

Baki stepped forward. “She was born in the U.S., but never visited that town.”

The guard nodded, eyes still on Carrie. “I figured. Just something about her.” He paused. “Might I see your passports?”

“Of course.” Baki reached into his robe and handed over his travel document and a folded sheet of paper. “That’s a temporary form for my granddaughter. Her passport’s still processing.”

The guard took them, scanning both without a word. After a moment, he handed them back. “So, where are you headed?”

“Tibet. We’re visiting relatives.”

“You’ll want Bhutan Airlines or Druk Air. No direct routes, but they’ll get you close.”

Baki brought his hands together in a slight bow. “Thank you, sir.”

The guard tipped his hat. “Safe flight to you both.”

He walked away.

Carrie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The overhead speakers crackled, announcing flight delays in three languages. Behind her, a child cried. That fleeting moment left a lasting impression.

The girl glanced at Baki. He stood still, his posture easy, but his gaze scanned the crowd.

“You handled that well,” he said, not turning.

She said nothing.

The guard’s words lingered like smoke: She seems familiar.

When’s the next time someone else says those words? She lowered her eyes and followed, wishing she could erase her face.

After clearing the last queue, they reached the Bhutan Airlines counter.

“No seats are available,” the attendant said, eyes fixed on the screen.

Carrie’s hands flexed at her sides. A low panic thrum stirred beneath her ribs. What if no one will take us?

Baki’s expression didn’t shift. “Thank you.” He then turned and guided her to the next desk.

At Druk Air, the clerk tapped a few keys and nodded in response. “Two seats available.”

He passed the payment across the counter without hesitation.

Carrie stood close, her gaze drifting upward to the scrolling departure board. Flights flickered and vanished. Gates changed. Names unknown to her slid past.

With the tickets in hand, they stepped into the slow stream of travelers moving toward the departure lounge.

A voice rang out over the speakers. Somewhere nearby, a baby’s cry pierced the low hum of voices.

Carrie followed Baki, her feet finding rhythm, but her thoughts stayed behind, still tangled in the ashes she hadn’t yet shaken loose.

They arrived at the gate area and found two empty seats near the far wall, away from the main corridor. Overhead, a flat screen flickered with flight details, casting a blue glow on the brushed tile floor.

Travelers slouched with headphones in, looking at glowing screens. Some paged through books with worn covers, others tapped at phones or stared into the middle distance.

Carrie sat beside Baki, tucking her hands into her lap. The air buzzed with soft music and far-off chatter. It was like they’d stepped into a waiting room between worlds.

Baki stood after a few minutes. “Wait here.”

He returned later with two bottles of water and a cloth satchel. He held it out to his ward.

“What’s this for?” Carrie asked.

“You’ll need something to carry,” Baki said. “Even if it’s empty now.”

The fabric was coarse and sturdy, with thick stitches.

Carrie brushed her hand over the flap. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

Baki sat again and said nothing more. Neither did Carrie. Despite her uncertainty about belonging, she found something to cherish.

Thirty minutes later, the plane rolled to the gate, glass reflecting off its silver nose.

Carrie stood in line beside Baki, her pulse racing behind her ears. When the scanner beeped beneath their tickets, a door unlocked, and the jet bridge stretched ahead, dim and narrow, the floor vibrating beneath each step.

The plane interior reeked of filtered air and synthetics. A flight attendant greeted them with a cheerful nod.

Carrie returned it, eyes darting between rows, searching for the number on her ticket. She found it: the window seat. Her face fell. She said nothing, but hoped for an aisle—something near escape.

Baki glanced at her. “Do you want to switch?”

“No. It’s fine.” Carrie slid into the seat, her shoulder grazing the cool metal of the window frame. Outside, the world looked smaller. She pulled her bag into her lap and rested her hands on it. “So, how long is this flight?”

“About an hour,” Baki said. “We’re headed to Paro, Bhutan. As long as the weather holds, it’ll be a smooth ride.”

Engines rumbled outside. The cabin shuddered as the plane pulled from the gate. Carrie flinched. Her fingers gripped the armrest.

A voice crackled through the speakers, welcoming passengers and detailing the flight path. She caught fragments—altitude, weather, expected arrival—but none settled.

She glanced down. Her seatbelt hung loose. She yanked it across her waist and clicked it into place as the lights dimmed.

Beside her, Baki sat still at ease.

Carrie reached for the cross around her neck. Stay with me. Keep me steady. The plane roared down the runway. Her stomach tightened as the ground dropped away. Pressure tugged her back into the seat. Clouds swallowed the window.

Her grip on the necklace didn’t waver.

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

“We’re in the air now,” Baki said.

Carrie leaned back. The engines still hummed, and the cabin trembled, but the panic had passed. Thank you, Lord.

A/N: This is a revised version of the original.