Little sunlight was streaming down the room when they returned from breakfast, the cold outside now softened to a bearable sting, and the sky above Shimla had turned a mellow grey. A gentle hush wrapped the hills, the kind that made every sound, the creak of wooden floors, the whisper of cloth, the quiet zip of a bag, feel louder than it was. Their shared room smelled like Vanilla beans, old pinewood, and the faintest hint of cinnamon from the welcome drink someone had left by the desk.