Nepal, March 7 -- There is something about evenings. The sun, slipping behind the hills, always brings a dull ache, a sharp pang that lingers in my chest. It's as though something I once owned, something that once belonged to me, is quietly dissolving away, retreating like the last rays from the rooftops I glance at from time to time-those silent, indifferent rooftops. Evenings are wrapped in a strange, inexplicable nostalgia, and I surrender to it, unable to resist. Ah, the evenings! How they torment me with their quiet cruelty.

The wind today is tyrannical. Far in the distance, the sun descends behind the hills, and pain seeps into my heart already. I curse the sun now, bitterly, for daring to leave so soon. Tomorrow, no doubt, I'll fi...