When Rimon stepped off the bus, the first light of dawn was just beginning to break. However, looking at the thick blanket of fog surrounding him, it felt as though the night hadn't truly ended. The village of Himpur seemed buried under a heavy white shroud. Adjusting the strap of his backpack, Rimon began walking down the unpaved path.
He was returning to this village after ten long years. The familiar trails of his childhood had changed significantly—or perhaps the fog was simply playing tricks on his memory; he couldn't be sure. Rimon recalled his grandfather's words: "In winter, Himpur becomes a different world altogether. Not everything you see here is the truth."
As he walked, he reached the edge of the old village pond. A biting cold wind sent shivers down his spine. Suddenly, Rimon felt as though someone was watching him from behind the veil of mist. He froze. Through the shifting fog, a blurry silhouette appeared in the distance.
It was a young boy wearing an old-fashioned sweater, sitting all alone by the pond. Rimon was taken aback. What was a child doing out here so early in such bone-chilling cold?
"Hey there, little one! Why are you sitting here all alone?" Rimon called out, stepping closer.
The boy slowly turned his head. For a moment, Rimon's heart skipped a beat. The boy's face looked hauntingly familiar... he looked exactly like Nilu, his childhood friend. But Nilu had disappeared ten years ago on a fog-drenched morning, never to be found again.
"Rimon Bhai, you've finally come?" the boy's voice was eerily calm, yet it echoed in Rimon's ears like a mountain resonance.
Rimon took another step forward, but right then, a sharp gust of wind swept through. The mist thickened instantly. When it cleared a second later, the boy was gone. Only a small ripple moved across the still water of the pond.
Rimon hurried toward his grandfather's old house. Inside, he found the ancient wooden table covered in a thick layer of dust. An open diary lay upon it. As Rimon flipped through the pages, he stopped abruptly at one entry. Written in bold red ink were the words:
"When the mist speaks, do not listen with a smile. For in Himpur, time stands still, and the past never truly dies."
Rimon's hands began to tremble. He realized then that returning to Himpur might either be the greatest mistake of his life—or the beginning of its darkest mystery.