Cat Cat Village

Chapter 1 – Cat Cat Village

Sapa welcomed them the way mountains always did–without haste, without apology.

The air was colder than Singapore’s endless humidity, thin enough to feel clean as it entered the lungs. Mist drifted between rooftops like a slow-moving veil, settling over the hills and lifting again in soft breaths. Even the noises of a tourist town–engines, chatter, the occasional hawker’s call–felt muted, as though the altitude demanded people speak more gently.

ABIX stood at the edge of the main street with their backpacks and jackets half-zipped, looking like they were about to begin an expedition instead of what was, in truth, a long-awaited holiday.

Crystal was the first to break into motion.

“This is perfect,” she said, scanning the street with the bright, decisive energy she brought everywhere. “We drop our bags, we eat something hot, and then we go straight to Cat Cat Village. No one wastes time.”

Ivan’s eyes flicked to the clock on his phone, then to their driver.

“If we leave within fifteen minutes, we can reach the village before the crowds get too dense,” he said. It did not sound like an opinion. It sounded like a plan.

Belle smiled, her arms wrapped around herself not just for warmth but out of quiet appreciation. She looked up at the fog, at the way the clouds pressed low, as though Sapa was holding the sky by its collar.

“It feels like a different world,” she murmured.

Aleem adjusted the strap of his bag and let their voices wash around him. He was used to the rhythm of ABIX–Crystal steering with momentum, Ivan anchoring the logistics, Belle softening everything with that gentle wonder that made even simple moments feel worth remembering.

He was happy.

And yet, as he watched the three of them fall into their natural pattern–Belle brushing Ivan’s sleeve when he checked directions, Crystal leaning into Belle’s shoulder to show her a photo–Aleem felt the familiar quiet echo in his chest.

Not jealousy.

Not bitterness.

Just that small, unspoken awareness: that he was the only one without a hand to reach for.

He had learned to carry it without complaint.

It was easier that way.

The drive to Cat Cat Village took them along winding roads where the mountains rose like sleeping giants. Terraced fields ran in soft, layered curves, and the fog drifted between them like breath. Every now and then, the mist parted to reveal rooftops and slopes that seemed too steep for homes, yet somehow life existed there anyway.

When they arrived, the village greeted them with the scent of wood, damp earth, and something faintly sweet–like roasted corn somewhere nearby.

Cat Cat was alive with small movements: local women in embroidered clothing walking with baskets, children darting between stalls, tourists lifting their phones toward every angle as though the landscape might disappear if they did not capture it fast enough.

ABIX walked together at an unhurried pace. Belle lingered near a stall selling woven bracelets. Crystal bargained with the kind of confidence that made even refusal feel negotiable. Ivan, hands in his pockets, watched the footpath, occasionally glancing up to orient himself.

Aleem stayed slightly behind, taking it in.

It was beautiful, yes, but beauty alone rarely held his attention for long.

He had been to Korea more times than he could count. He had stood in places people called breathtaking. He had seen cities light up at night like constellations.

Yet there was something about Sapa–something calmer, more grounded–that made him feel as though the world had slowed to a pace he could finally match.

They reached a viewpoint where the village opened into a wide sweep of green and grey, terraced hills tumbling down toward a waterfall that shimmered through the mist.

Aleem’s friends paused for photos.

Crystal angled her phone, directing Belle and Ivan with the authority of a film director.

“Stand there. No, closer. Belle, tilt your head slightly. Ivan, smile properly–do not look like you are attending a meeting.”

“I am smiling,” Ivan replied, expression barely shifting.

Belle laughed under her breath.

Aleem stepped away to give them space, letting the breeze cool the back of his neck. He watched the mist roll along the hills like a slow tide.

Then his gaze caught on her.

She stood a short distance from the crowd, not posing for anyone, not even holding a phone.

A girl in traditional costume.

The fabric was richly coloured and intricately patterned, fitted with a care that suggested this was not a costume thrown on for tourists, but something worn with familiarity. Her hair was dark, gathered loosely, and the wind toyed with the strands near her cheek.

She faced the valley, chin slightly lifted, as though she was trying to take in the whole scene at once–every layer of hill, every drifting strand of cloud.

For a moment, Aleem forgot that he was a visitor.

He was simply a man who had noticed something beautiful and found himself unable to look away.

His first instinct was to move on.

He had always been like that–observing quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself, letting moments pass without reaching for them.

Because reaching came with consequences.

It came with the risk of being misunderstood, rejected, or worse–letting himself hope for something that would not last.

But he also knew that if he walked away now, he would regret it.

There was a difference between being careful and being cowardly.

Aleem took a breath, steadied his shoulders, and walked toward her.

Up close, she looked even more composed, as if she belonged to the mountains in a way he never could. When she turned slightly at the sound of his footsteps, her eyes met his with calm curiosity.

Aleem offered a small smile.

“Excuse me,” he began, voice gentle, measured. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

She blinked once, then shook her head.

“No,” she said. Her English carried an accent he could not immediately place–smooth, careful consonants. “It is fine.”

Aleem nodded, as though he was negotiating with his own nerves.

“I just wanted to say…” He paused, letting the compliment land properly instead of sounding rehearsed. “You look very beautiful. Not only the outfit, but the way you carry yourself. It suits you.”

For a moment, her expression held neutral–evaluating, perhaps used to compliments that came with expectation.

Then her mouth softened into the slightest smile.

“That is a very thoughtful way to say it,” she replied.

Aleem exhaled, relieved she had not dismissed him.

“I try,” he said. “I am Aleem.”

She tilted her head.

“Dasha,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Aleem.”

The way she said his name was careful, as though she was tasting it for the first time.

“Are you travelling with friends?” she asked, glancing past him.

Aleem followed her gaze to where ABIX were still attempting to force Ivan into something resembling a relaxed smile.

“Yes,” he said, amused. “They are my closest friends. They are very energetic when it comes to photos.”

Dasha’s eyes flicked back to him, a quiet humour there.

“And you?” she asked. “Are you energetic too?”

Aleem’s smile sharpened slightly.

“I am energetic in different ways,” he said. “I am better at conversations than posing.”

That earned him a real smile.

“I like conversations,” Dasha said.

They stood together at the railing, the valley stretching out before them. For a few minutes, they spoke like people who had somehow skipped the awkward first pages.

Dasha told him she was travelling alone. She had arrived in Vietnam a few days earlier and had moved through places without rushing, choosing mountains over cities.

“Kazakhstan is big,” she said. “But sometimes you still feel… closed in. You know?”

Aleem nodded.

“I think I do,” he replied. “In a different way, but yes.”

They traded simple details–where she had been, where he had travelled, what foods they had tried, what weather they were still adjusting to.

And then, inevitably, the question emerged.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Dasha asked.

Aleem’s answer came with a decision he felt before he fully formed it.

“My friends and I are planning to climb Fansipan,” he said. “Or at least attempt it. We are not professionals.”

Dasha’s eyes brightened.

“Fansipan,” she repeated. “Yes. I was thinking of doing that.”

Aleem watched her for a beat, then stepped into the moment while it was still open.

“Then come with us,” he said.

Her brows lifted.

“With your friends?”

“Yes,” Aleem replied, steady. “If you want to. I know you are travelling alone, and I respect that. But climbing is always safer with people. And…” He let the last part carry a softer weight. “I would like your company.”

Dasha looked at him for a long moment.

Aleem did not rush to fill the silence.

Finally, she nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “I will join you.”

The satisfaction that spread through Aleem was immediate, and he tempered it quickly, unwilling to let excitement make him careless.

“That is great,” he said, then added with a slight grin, “I promise my friends are friendly. Slightly chaotic, but friendly.”

“I can handle chaos,” Dasha replied.

Aleem smiled, then reached for his phone.

“Can I have your contact?”

Dasha took out her own phone, and they exchanged numbers with a smoothness that felt almost too easy.

When Aleem looked up, he found her watching him again.

“What?” he asked.

Dasha’s smile was faint, but it held something bold.

“You are different from the men who usually approach,” she said. “You are… careful. But not boring.”

Aleem laughed softly, caught off guard.

“I will take that as a compliment,” he said.

“It is,” Dasha replied.

Across the path, Crystal waved at him impatiently.

“Aleem!” she called. “Come here. We need you in the photo.”

Aleem raised a hand in response, then turned back to Dasha.

“My friends are calling,” he said. “But I will see you tomorrow.”

Dasha nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

As he walked back toward ABIX, Aleem felt the strange, unsettling warmth of possibility.

Crystal eyed him the moment he returned.

“You disappeared,” she said. “And you came back smiling. Explain yourself.”

Belle’s gaze was gentler, curious.

Ivan said nothing, but his eyes flicked briefly toward where Dasha still stood by the railing.

Aleem adjusted his jacket as if that could conceal anything.

“There is nothing to explain,” he said.

Crystal’s expression made it clear she did not believe him for a second.

That night, back in the hotel, Aleem showered, changed into clean clothes, and sat by the window where the fog pressed against the glass.

His phone lay on the bed beside him.

He stared at it longer than he should have.

Then he typed.

Aleem: It was nice meeting you today. I hope Cat Cat Village impressed you as much as it did me.

He paused, then added another line.

Aleem: Also, I hope you know your outfit was not the only beautiful thing in the valley.

He stared at the message for a second, half-tempted to delete it.

Then he sent it.

The reply came sooner than he expected.

Dasha: You are bold for someone who claims to be careful.

Aleem’s smile was slow, genuine.

Outside, Sapa’s mist thickened, hiding the mountains.

But for the first time in a long while, Aleem felt as though something had been revealed.