Chapter 3: The First Night in Russia

The door creaked open as Rohan stepped into his new home—if one could even call it that. The dimly lit room was small, almost claustrophobic, with walls that had once been white but were now an uninspiring shade of beige, marked with scuff marks and faint stains. A radiator beneath the frostbitten window hummed weakly, as if struggling to breathe in the bitter Russian cold. His bed, an old wooden frame with a thin mattress, let out a tired groan as he sat down, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into his bones.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, letting the unfamiliar silence swallow him. A part of him had expected some grand, cinematic moment—maybe the realization that he was in a foreign land, chasing his future. Instead, all he felt was an unsettling emptiness, as if he had somehow lost a part of himself the moment he stepped off the plane.

His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled out his phone. No signal. He sighed and connected to the hostel Wi-Fi, relieved to see a flood of messages from home. His mom had sent a dozen texts—asking if he had eaten, if the hostel was warm, if he had made any friends. His dad’s message was brief but comforting: We are proud of you. Be strong.

Rohan typed out a quick reply, assuring them he was fine. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but what else could he say? That he already felt like an outsider in his own life? That the silence of this foreign world felt heavier than the bustling streets of home?

A sudden knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He hesitated before opening it.

Alexei stood there, grinning as if they had been best friends for years. “You look lost.”

“Uh… just tired,” Rohan mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Alexei chuckled. “Then you need chai. Russian-style. Come.”

Before Rohan could protest, Alexei had already started walking down the hallway. With no better alternative, he followed.

The common area was alive with a chaotic mix of cultures. Students from different countries sat in clusters, engaged in lively conversations—some in English, some in Russian, others in languages Rohan couldn’t even recognize. The air smelled of something spicy and unfamiliar, and the warmth of human voices was oddly comforting.

Alexei led him to a small kitchen at the corner of the hall, where a battered old kettle was steaming on a portable stove. A tall guy with glasses—probably another student—was stirring a pot of what looked like tea, but the color was darker, richer.

“This is Ivan,” Alexei said. “Ivan, meet our new Indian brother, Rohan.”

Ivan pushed his glasses up and gave a slight nod. “Chai?”

Rohan hesitated. He had grown up with the sweet, milky comfort of Indian chai. This was different—no milk, no cardamom, just a strong, almost smoky scent.

“Try it,” Alexei urged. “This will warm your soul.”

Rohan took the cup Ivan handed him and blew softly on the surface before taking a sip. The bitterness hit first, then the warmth spread through his chest, almost like liquid fire. It was strong, raw, but strangely… addictive.

“Well?” Alexei asked, watching him expectantly.

Rohan exhaled, feeling his body thaw slightly. “It’s… intense.”

Alexei laughed. “Welcome to Russia, my friend.”

They sat on a couch near the window, the frost clinging to the glass like delicate lace. Outside, Moscow stretched out like a dream—golden streetlights glowing against the white snow, the distant outline of buildings disappearing into the cold night mist. A few students outside were throwing snow at each other, their laughter rising into the air like music.

Rohan took another sip of the tea, feeling something shift inside him. Maybe he didn’t belong here yet, but for the first time since he landed, he didn’t feel completely alone.

He glanced at Alexei, who was rambling about something—his words a blur of Russian and English—but Rohan wasn’t listening. He was watching the snow, the city, the unfamiliar beauty of it all.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this place wasn’t so bad after all.

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