Sapa Nights
Chapter 6 – Sapa Nights
Coming down from the summit felt like returning from a different world.
The wind eased as they descended, but the exhaustion lingered–heavy in the thighs, sharp in the knees, a dull ache in the shoulders from backpacks that suddenly felt twice their weight. The fog thinned in places, revealing stretches of green again, trees clinging stubbornly to slopes, and the occasional glimpse of distant rooftops.
Aleem walked with a quiet awareness of Dasha beside him.
Not because he feared she might fall.
Because he still felt the echo of her confession in his chest.
And his own response.
The hug.
The way he had stepped forward.
The way it had not felt like losing control, but like reclaiming something he had been denying himself.
ABIX rejoined them at intervals–Crystal appearing ahead, triumphant and loud; Belle falling into step with gentle questions; Ivan keeping track of time and pace as though the mountain itself had a schedule.
Crystal turned back at one point, eyes flicking between Aleem and Dasha’s hands.
She did not comment.
She only smiled in a way that made Aleem feel exposed.
When they finally returned to the base area, the warmth of the lower altitude felt like mercy.
They took the shuttle back toward town, heads leaning against seats, bodies sinking into quiet relief.
Belle was the first to speak, voice soft.
“I am proud of you,” she said, looking at Aleem.
Aleem glanced at her. “For climbing?”
“For not giving up,” Belle replied simply.
Aleem did not answer, but his gaze held hers for a brief moment, acknowledging what she truly meant.
Ivan, seated beside Crystal, spoke without looking up from his phone.
“Dinner?”
Crystal lifted her head immediately. “Yes. Somewhere with hot food. And I want dessert.”
Dasha turned to Aleem. “Do you always choose food like this?”
Aleem’s mouth twitched. “Crystal chooses. We follow.”
Crystal’s grin appeared. “Good. He knows his place.”
Dasha laughed–quiet at first, then brighter.
Aleem watched the sound leave her like it belonged.
It did.
By the time they reached Sapa, evening had settled fully. The town glowed with warm lights and wet pavement, the mist catching reflections like scattered gold. Smoke from grills rose in thin spirals, and the scent of roasted meat and herbs drifted through the air.
They found a restaurant tucked between two souvenir shops. Inside, the heat fogged their glasses and loosened the stiffness in their bodies. A pot of broth simmered in the centre of the table, steaming and fragrant.
Aleem sat beside Dasha.
Not opposite.
Not across.
Beside.
It was subtle, but it mattered.
Belle sat on Aleem’s other side, smiling as she spoke to Dasha.
“What brought you to Vietnam?” Belle asked.
Dasha answered easily. “I wanted mountains. And a place that feels different from my own life.”
Crystal leaned forward. “You are travelling alone? That is impressive.”
Dasha’s eyes held Crystal’s confidently. “It is peaceful. Sometimes lonely. But I like choosing my own pace.”
Ivan nodded once. “It builds resilience.”
Crystal tilted her head toward Ivan, amused. “You would say that.”
Ivan’s expression remained calm. “It is true.”
Dasha looked between them, smiling slightly. “You are all very different.”
Belle’s eyes softened. “We balance each other.”
Aleem listened as they spoke, watching Dasha absorb the group’s dynamic like she was reading a language she had not expected to understand.
Crystal tested her with humour.
Ivan offered steady, practical questions.
Belle gave her warmth without overwhelming her.
And Dasha met each of them with composure.
She did not try to impress.
She did not shrink.
She simply existed as herself.
At one point, Crystal looked at Aleem.
“So,” she said, the word loaded.
Aleem sighed, already bracing himself. “Do not.”
Crystal’s eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “Do not what?”
“Do not interrogate me in front of her,” Aleem replied.
Dasha turned her head. “Interrogate?”
Aleem gave her a restrained smile. “She enjoys making me uncomfortable.”
Crystal lifted her chopsticks like a judge’s gavel. “I enjoy clarity. And you are historically unclear.”
Ivan’s voice was mild. “That is accurate.”
Belle glanced at Aleem with gentle reproach. “Ivan.”
Ivan simply continued eating.
Aleem looked at Dasha. “Ignore them.”
Dasha’s gaze warmed. “I find it entertaining.”
Aleem’s mouth tightened, fighting a smile. “You are siding with them already.”
“Not siding,” Dasha corrected. “Observing.”
Crystal leaned back, satisfied. “She fits in.”
The food arrived steadily–platters of vegetables, thin slices of meat, dumplings, noodles. They cooked their own portions in the broth, steam rising between them like a veil.
Aleem noticed small things.
Dasha automatically offered Belle the first cooked dumpling.
Dasha watched Ivan’s methodical timing and did not mock it.
Dasha laughed when Crystal made a dramatic speech about “surviving Fansipan.”
And each time Dasha smiled, Aleem felt that uncomfortable warmth again.
He could pretend it was nothing.
But it was not.
After dinner, they stepped back into the cold.
The night market had grown livelier. People moved between stalls, wrapped in scarves. Vendors sold grilled corn, sweet potatoes, skewers, and steaming cups of ginger tea.
Crystal immediately marched toward dessert.
Belle followed with amusement.
Ivan walked alongside them, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd.
Aleem and Dasha drifted slightly behind.
It happened naturally.
Like their bodies had already chosen the same pace.
Dasha leaned closer to him, her voice lowered.
“Your friends are protective,” she said.
Aleem glanced ahead at Crystal tugging Belle toward a stall with the enthusiasm of someone who believed desserts were an essential human right.
“They are not protective,” Aleem replied. “They are curious.”
Dasha’s eyes held quiet humour. “Curiosity can be protection.”
Aleem did not argue.
They passed a stall selling embroidered scarves. Dasha slowed, fingertips brushing the fabric.
Aleem stopped with her.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
Dasha nodded. “It is beautiful.”
Aleem looked at the scarves, then back at her.
He wanted to buy one for her.
The thought came impulsively–and immediately, his caution flared.
Too soon.
Too much.
Do not become the man who overwhelms.
Dasha turned her head slightly.
“You are thinking again,” she said.
Aleem exhaled, half amused, half frustrated. “You notice too much.”
Dasha smiled. “I notice what matters.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He looked away, scanning the market as if it could give him answers.
“What is wrong?” Dasha asked, gentle but direct.
Aleem hesitated.
In past relationships, he had learned to swallow his fear, to present stability. He had learned that if he revealed uncertainty, he would be labelled complicated.
But Dasha was standing beside him in the cold night, watching him as if she had patience for truth.
So he gave her some of it.
“I do not want to ruin this,” he admitted.
Dasha blinked slowly. “Ruin what?”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“This feeling,” he said. “Between us.”
Dasha’s gaze softened, but her voice remained calm.
“Aleem,” she said. “You cannot ruin something by being honest.”
Aleem let out a slow breath. “You say that as if honesty is easy.”
“For you, it is not,” Dasha replied. “Because you think honesty will make you vulnerable.”
Aleem looked at her.
“That is exactly what it does,” he said.
Dasha’s voice grew quieter, and the directness turned almost tender.
“Yes,” she said. “But vulnerability is not the enemy. It is only uncomfortable.”
Aleem swallowed.
The market noise blurred.
For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed again.
Dasha stepped closer.
Not to trap him.
To anchor him.
“I did not confess at the summit to make you rush,” she said. “I confessed because I respect you enough to tell the truth. I do not need you to be fearless. I only need you to be present.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He looked at her, then down at the wet pavement where reflections trembled beneath their feet.
He had spent years being present for others.
He had rarely allowed himself to be present in his own feelings.
“I am trying,” Aleem said quietly.
Dasha’s gaze held him.
“I can see that,” she replied.
They walked on.
A few minutes later, Crystal called from ahead.
“Aleem! Belle found a stall with some ridiculous-looking cake. Come and judge it with us.”
Belle turned, smiling. “It is not ridiculous. It is interesting.”
Ivan said flatly, “It is ridiculous.”
Belle laughed.
Aleem glanced at Dasha. “Do you want to join them?”
Dasha’s eyes warmed. “Yes.”
They caught up.
Crystal immediately looked between Aleem and Dasha.
“What were you two doing behind?” she asked, tone light but intent.
Aleem replied smoothly, “We were walking.”
Crystal’s eyes narrowed. “That is not an answer.”
Ivan, mercifully, stepped in. “Let them breathe.”
Crystal blinked at him. “Since when are you kind?”
Ivan’s expression remained unchanged. “I am not kind. I am efficient.”
Belle smiled at Dasha. “Do you like sweet things?”
Dasha nodded. “Yes.”
Crystal handed Dasha a small piece of cake with the authority of someone conducting a trial.
“Try,” she said. “Tell us your verdict.”
Dasha took a bite, then smiled.
“It is good,” she said. “Very sweet.”
Crystal beamed. “She has good taste.”
Aleem shook his head, amused.
The night continued like that–small moments, shared laughter, warmth bleeding through cold air.
Eventually, they returned to the hotel.
In the corridor, Belle and Crystal said goodnight. Ivan nodded once. Their footsteps disappeared behind their doors.
Aleem and Dasha stood facing each other outside her room.
The corridor lighting was soft, yellow, and the quiet felt heavier here.
Dasha’s gaze rested on him.
“You are tired,” she said.
“Yes,” Aleem admitted.
Dasha hesitated, then smiled slightly. “But you are also… happy.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He wanted to deny it.
He did not.
“I am,” he said.
Dasha held his gaze for a moment.
Then she lifted her hand.
Her fingertips brushed his sleeve–light, careful.
“Goodnight, Aleem,” she said.
Aleem nodded, voice quiet. “Goodnight, Dasha.”
She opened her door.
Before she stepped in, she looked back.
“Do not disappear,” she said, simple and direct.
Aleem’s chest tightened again.
He nodded once. “I will not.”
Dasha’s expression softened.
Then she stepped inside, and the door clicked closed.
Aleem stood in the corridor for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he returned to his room.
Inside, the silence greeted him.
But it did not feel empty.
He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.
He typed, slow and deliberate.
Aleem: Thank you for today.
He paused, then added the truth that mattered.
Aleem: I do not want this to be only a beautiful memory.
He sent it.
A reply came almost immediately.
Dasha: Then do not treat it like one.
Aleem stared at the words.
Outside, Sapa’s fog thickened again.
Inside, something in him loosened–quietly, insistently.
He lay back and closed his eyes.
And for once, he let himself believe that this could continue.