Srinagar, July 11 -- There's a moment on the way to Margan Valley when the noise of the world falls away. You climb above the treeline, above the last signs of habitation, and suddenly the horizon opens: bare, wild, and stunning.

The wind picks up. The road narrows into gravel and dust. And then, just as fatigue and doubt creep in, the valley appears, cupped like a secret between snow-draped peaks.

That moment stayed with me.

It was July, and the summer in southern Kashmir had settled into its golden phase. The fields in my hometown of Vailoo were lush, the walnut trees heavy with promise, and the air smelled faintly of ripening fruits.

I had planned the trip with a few close friends, seeking an escape from our routines and a return t...