Two Tickets to Pahalgam

The winding road to Pahalgam stretched out like an endless promise, and the air was so crisp that it felt like we were breathing in our last moments of freedom. 

I sat next to my older brother, Vihaan, laughing and joking around for the last few minutes of the train ride before we reached the destination for our final trip together. That is, before Vihaan left for university in the US.

We had to beg our parents for days to let us go on this trip. Finally, we decided on Pahalgam. A beautiful, fun-filled area in J&K that was affordable and safe enough for our parents to agree to. So there we were, making our way to our small guesthouse in the picturesque town of Pahalgam.

In the two days that followed, we hiked the valleys, laughed under the stars, and talked about his future. He was leaving soon — America, a new life. But for now, we were here, in a place untouched by time.

On the third day, we headed down to Baisaran Valley, camera in hand and hearts full of excitement. I had planned to document this trip for Vihaan as a memoir before he left his old life behind.

We were riding horses through the valley, frolicking and enjoying the bright, sunny afternoon. The cool mountain breeze hit my face, a promise of calm, before the world spun out of control. I was laughing at Vihaan’s jokes when the sound broke through the peace — shouts, screams, and gunfire. I froze. The horses bolted. Vihaan grabbed my hand, pulling me toward safety, but he stumbled, falling.

A man, his face obscured by a mask, approached us slowly, the cold glint of his rifle gleaming under the dimming sky. He motioned toward Vihaan, his voice a harsh whisper carried by the wind.

‘What is your religion?’ he demanded, his eyes boring into Vihaan's face.

Vihaan’s lips trembled, the question hanging in the air like a cruel joke. His voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke, the words thick with fear. 

The noise came so suddenly, like a clap of thunder. A gunshot. Vihaan's hand jerked in mine — he collapsed, and I couldn’t understand. My ears buzzed, and people started screaming and running around me. I probably should’ve hauled myself to safety as well, but I remained kneeling next to Vihaan, his hand resting in mine, his blood soaking into my clothes. Streams of blood, sweat, and tears covered my hands as I fell out of consciousness, the world collapsing around me.

I woke up in a hospital bed, eyes raw, throat dry. The noise of the attack was still echoing in my ears. Vihaan was gone. The doctors’ faces blurred before me, as if I couldn’t quite believe it.

Back home, the house felt hollow. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe without him there.

The injustice of it all felt raw and real. How could I have survived when he didn’t? Later, I learnt of the many other people who lost their lives and loved ones to more people like that man in the mask.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Our trip, our plans, unfinished. The bucket list lay on my desk, one item unchecked. I never imagined I’d have to carry it alone.

Two tickets to Pahalgam. Only one came back.

…

Author’s Note

This story is a humble tribute to all the innocent lives lost in the Pahalgam tragedy of April 22, 2025. My deepest respects go to the victims, their families, and all those who continue to bear the pain of that terrible day.

I also extend heartfelt gratitude to our brave soldiers, security forces, and the government for their tireless efforts to protect our nation.

This work is purely fictional. The characters and events portrayed are not based on any real individuals and are not meant to replace or diminish the real lives affected by this tragedy. The story is written solely to honor the memory of the victims and to spread awareness about the gravity of what happened.

I write this with the utmost respect and love for my country.

Jai Hind! Jai Bharat!