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starts.’
    On the morning of the third day I could sense that something was different. Dawa disappeared into the bungalow and left me to my own devices. I wrote up my diary and sunbathed for a bit, then scraped the stubble off my chin with a blunt disposable razor I found in the bottom of my washbag.
    I was just thinking of going for a walk in the forest when Dawa came back looking pleased with himself.
    â€˜Follow me,’ he said with a smile. ‘You do not have to wait any more.’
    We walked together to the front door of the bungalow. From there we passed down a short corridor, then entered a room which was part bedroom, part hospital ward. I was in a bit of a daze at this point, and I blinked in amazement at the white-painted room which was stuffed with gently humming medical machines.
    In the corner of the room, lit by soft sunlight filtering through wooden shutters, I saw Kami for the first time. He was dressed in a striking pair of red and white striped pyjamas and lying in a high-tech bed which seemed to be rocking in gentle waves. A second or two later – with a disturbing shock – I recognised it as the type of device used to stop paralysed patients from getting bed sores. I’d seen similar beds when I’d done my work experience at the local hospital back home.
    â€˜Welcome!’ Kami’s voice was eager and strong. He was obviously very excited to have a visitor.
    I approached the bed and we stared at each other for a while, both grinning like idiots at the pleasure of the encounter. For me it was the sense of accomplishing a task; I had taken on this quest for Shreeya and had not failed her. For him, I guessed, it was the opportunity to talk to someone new. I reached out to clutch his hand, holding it tight for a few seconds in the universal way of greeting.
    He did not grip my hand back. In fact, his entire body seemed strangely motionless from the neck down, his muscles evidently atrophied.
    That’s when I got it.
    Kami was paralysed from the neck down.
    A boy who is neither dead nor alive.
    Suddenly those rumours were making a terrible sort of sense.
    Probably, I reckoned, he had broken his spine: an injury that would leave him paralysed for life even though he could obviously move his head a bit and breathe without a machine.
    I was gutted to see the situation he was in and I immediately wondered how on earth Shreeya would react to the news.
    A whole load of questions zapped through my mind. What accident had he had? Who had paid for this place to be built? Where was the mystery carer that Dawa had mentioned?
    But I didn’t have a chance to dwell on any of these things because Kami’s face broke out into the most brilliant smile as I sat in the chair next to him. He was every bit as handsome as the photograph that Shreeya still cherished – and definitely still filled with a zest for life. He turned his head a little and regarded me as if I was a visiting angel.
    We really did have an amazing and instant connection between us. I have never liked someone so fast in my life. I was intensely curious to find out more about him.
    â€˜You cut yourself,’ Kami told me with a smile. His eyes were locked on my chin.
    â€˜Oh … I just shaved.’ I took out a tissue and dabbed at the bloodspot.
    â€˜Have you got news from Shreeya?’
    â€˜Yes. It was Shreeya that sent me to try and find you.’
    This provoked a sort of gasp from Kami and he turned his face away. A single tear ran down his cheek and he breathed deeply for a minute or two as he recovered his composure.
    â€˜I will leave you both,’ Dawa said tactfully.
    He softly closed the door.
    And that was when Kami began to talk.

Chapter 3

Kami’s Story
    It was a crisp November morning, a rare day of calm punctuating the turbulence of the Himalayan winter. Kami and his father were high above the snowline, cutting trees by hand. A small billycan of tea was boiling up on an open fire