In the misty embrace of Shillong, where rolling hills whispered tales of ancient tribes and the air carried the scent of pine, Agatha stepped onto the sprawling campus of North Eastern Hill University (NEHU). At 25, she was a dreamer with a quiet resolve, her eyes sparkling with curiosity about the world’s cultures. She had come to pursue a Master’s in Anthropology, drawn to the stories of the Khasi, Garo, and Jaintia tribes that pulsed through Meghalaya’s veins. Little did she know that her journey would weave her heart with another’s in ways she hadn’t imagined.

On her first day, in a sunlit lecture hall overlooking Ward’s Lake, Agatha noticed Arunoday. At 26, he carried an easy charm, his laughter mingling with the chatter of classmates. His roots were in Assam, but Shillong felt like home to him, its rhythms familiar yet endlessly fascinating. He, too, had joined the Anthropology program, driven by a passion to understand the intricate tapestry of Northeast India’s traditions. Their professor, Dr. Lyngdoh, paired them for a group project on Khasi matrilineal systems, sparking the first thread of their connection.

Their friendship bloomed over late-night study sessions in the NEHU library, where dog-eared books on kinship and folklore lay scattered between cups of steaming black tea from a nearby stall. Agatha loved the way Arunoday’s eyes lit up when he spoke about oral traditions, his hands animated, sketching stories in the air. He admired her sharp insights, the way she could unravel complex social structures with a quiet confidence. They’d walk back to their hostels under Shillong’s starry skies, the cool breeze carrying their laughter past pine trees and the faint strum of guitars from distant cafes.

One rainy afternoon, as monsoon clouds draped Shillong in a silver haze, they found refuge in a small cafe on Laitumkhrah’s bustling streets. Over plates of jadoh and steaming momos, Arunoday shared stories of his childhood in Guwahati, while Agatha spoke of her Khasi grandmother’s tales of sacred groves. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, each discovery deepening their bond. When Agatha shyly admitted her love for folk music, Arunoday promised to take her to a live performance at Shillong’s iconic Cloud 9. That evening, as a local band strummed soulful tunes, their hands brushed, and a spark ignited—unspoken, but undeniable.Their friendship soon carried the tender weight of something more. They explored Shillong together, from the vibrant chaos of Police Bazar to the serene trails of Shillong Peak, where they’d sit on grassy slopes, sharing dreams. Agatha admired Arunoday’s respect for her independence, never pushing but always present. He found solace in her warmth, her ability to make even the simplest moments—like sipping tea by the Umiam Lake—feel profound. Their mutual respect grew, rooted in shared passions and a quiet understanding of each other’s worlds.

One winter evening, during the Shillong Literary Festival, Arunoday read a poem he’d written about the hills, his voice steady but eyes fixed on Agatha. The words spoke of love as enduring as the mountains, and when he finished, her heart raced. Later, under the glow of fairy lights strung across Pinewood Hotel’s lawn, he took her hand. “Agatha,” he said, his voice soft, “you’re my home, wherever we go.” Her smile was her answer, and in that moment, they knew their paths were entwined.Their love deepened through their second year at NEHU. 

They collaborated on a thesis about the intersection of modernity and tribal identity, spending days interviewing elders in Mawphlang’s sacred forests. Arunoday’s patience and Agatha’s empathy made them a formidable team, their work earning praise from their professors. But beyond academia, they built a world together—celebrating Nongkrem Dance festivals, hiking to Elephant Falls, and dreaming of a future where they’d document the Northeast’s stories side by side.

As graduation neared, Arunoday proposed on a quiet evening at Lady Hydari Park. The cherry blossoms were in bloom, their petals drifting like soft promises. He knelt, holding a simple ring adorned with a tiny Khasi motif, and said, “Agatha, let’s write our story together—forever.” Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded, her heart full. Their families, though initially hesitant about their inter-community union, saw the depth of their love and gave their blessings, warmed by their shared respect for each other’s cultures.

Their wedding was a celebration of Shillong’s spirit, held in a meadow near Sohra, where mist clung to the hills like a bridal veil. Agatha wore a traditional Khasi jainsem, her smile radiant, while Arunoday looked dashing in a kurta with a Khasi shawl. Friends from NEHU danced to a fusion of Khasi flutes and Assamese folk tunes, and the air buzzed with joy. 

As they exchanged vows, promising to honor each other’s dreams and roots, the hills seemed to hum in approval.Years later, Agatha and Arunoday would return to Shillong, now as partners in life and work, documenting the Northeast’s vanishing traditions. Their love, born in the lecture halls of NEHU and nurtured by Shillong’s misty charm, remained as steadfast as the hills, a testament to friendship, respect, and a shared journey that began with a glance and culminated in forever.