In the initial few weeks in the city, Gyamma kept her promises to Myaddan and visited as often as she could.

His merry group of highlanders welcomed her into their fold like she’d been born one of them, and even if she stayed quite silent through their rambunctious conversations, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of comfort in their midst

There was the feeling of travelling between night and day, as on each visit Gyamma found herself oscillating between the exhausting, exhilarating whirlwind of academia and the simple, exuberant joy of the little tavern.

But the constant switching between two cultures made the cracks and distances between them all the more apparent. On one hand, the university threatened to drown Gyamma with knowledge and erudition at scales she hadn’t ever imagined. On the other, amongst the rough-and-tumble mountain folk, there was a deep wisdom, but little education. The city highlanders learnt only distorted forms of the old, traditional ways, passed down from grandparents who had long migrated from the mountains.

Without even rudimentary Touch-skills, the only jobs open to them was where climbing or Breath were advantages - construction, labour in in polluted factories, or firefighting - all low paying, physically demanding jobs.

When Gyamma returned to the university after each visit, the shadow of this stigma seemed to follow her closely, as she dealt with the ordeal of being… her.

Everything in the university seemed intently geared to make her life a little harder. The yellow student robes, stitched to various plainsfolk sizes, hung loosely on her short, stout frame for weeks before she modified them with some haphazard and untidy patchwork. The dainty little dining spoons far too small for her large hands, and she had to keep fishing them out of hot bowls of oversweet soups and porridges, missing the hot, spicy food of the mountains that kept the ice at bay. The fragile charcoal pieces used for writing crumbled between her fingers, and she found herself spending an inordinate amount of her meagre stipend on their supply..

It’s you who is different, the world around her seemed to say, you don’t belong in this place.

Her initial attempts to make friends with fellow students were met with everything ranging from cold shoulders to bare-faced glares and suggestions that she would not last very long here. There were a few who looked at her with sympathy rather than malice, but they too hurried away with uncomfortable excuses when she tried to engage them in conversation.

She might have put down this attitude among the students to immaturity of youth, or lack of exposure to the world, but it was not so. Dishearteningly, more than one Guru semed to share their pupils’ views. Gyamma’s fascination with learning world history, for instance, was tempered by the Archive Studies teacher, who staunchly opposed the Sadguru’s decision. He barely tolerated her presence in class, and made it a point to ignore her questions, “lose” her assignments and criticize her lack of knowledge.

Worst of all, her hands and feet ached for the simply joy of just climbing, which there was nowhere to do. She had tried it once, Pinning her way to the rooftop, and that had resulted in a thorough tongue lashing by the wardens about her disgraceful behaviour, and how the fragility of the solid granite walls and the frailty of the massive wooden beams couldn’t take her brutish handling of them. She took to simply Pinning to the ceiling of her tiny room in the dark, when she needed the comforting sense of altitude.

While her occasional visits to the city to meet Myaddan and his friends cheered her up, she could hardly talk to them about the nuances of her study, or share with them the little technical details of the fields she was discovering.

Gyamma found solace instead in focussing intensely on her newfound passion in Touch Farming, catching the attention of at least a few academics. This included the calm and impassive Guru Para who, it was clear, thought fondly of the young, earnest highlander girl and her quickly growing capabilities for taming the plants and trees of the Touch-groves she was coming to love. She spent more and more time amongst them, pouring herself into the trees. However, the seclusion took its toll, and she grew a little more withdrawn each month.

Until one day, about a year later, when another chance encounter occurred. She was walking through the wooden balcony carrying a large planter of saplings, when she heard a loud crashing thud in the stairwell leading upstairs. She jogged over to see a young man, tall and dark skinned, lying at the bottom of the stairs. A pile of books lay scattered all over the stairs.

The youth rolled, groaning, and tried to put his weight on one arm to get up. Immediately, he fell again with a loud yell. She ran down to him and knelt, setting the planter down besides him.

“Don’t move yet,” she said, “I think you might have broken your arm. How bad is the pain?”

He groaned at her in reply.

“I think I can help,” she said and moved the planter closer to his arm.

In the little box were saplings, and seedlings, arranged in a familiar pattern. The tiny plants mimicked almost precisely the huge groves of enveloping Mother trees and Soul-plants in the Oldwoods.

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Gyamma grasped a render vine growing around the edges and Touched water into it, infusing the leaves with the liquid. The vine bulged, drinking eagerly. At the edge of the planter near the broken arm, a flower bloomed, extending several long red feelers. Gyamma tugged on them gently and moved their tips along the exposed arm.

The man sighed in relief, as the pain numbed immediately. Gyamma smiled to herself, proud of the effect her miniature Touch-grove had produced.

“That certainly feels better,” he said, with a puff.

“Well, it’s only temporary,” Gyamma responded, “we need to set your arm. We should go to the Healer’s hut now.”

She helped him up with some effort and awkwardness, using his other arm as a handle on skinny youth.

“You have my utmost thanks madam I - Hey! You’re a highlander!” he said as he noticed her for the first time. Gyamma noticed his face light up as he said it. Unusual, she thought.

“That is a common reaction for people here,” she said guardedly.

“My luck indeed!” he continued, “I have heard of you of course, the first of your people to attend university. It is an honour to meet you madam! Although, the current situation is not quite how I expected to.”

He winced embarrassedly. Gyamma was unsure how to take this. She began to walk towards the healer’s hut, and the man followed cradling his arm.

“Heard of me? From whom? And how?”

“Ah of course, I should have explained! My mother is on the city council. She oversees much of the maintenance and repair of the university premises. She is quite popular among your… I mean, the worker’s guilds and unions. The highlanders she meets mention you often,” he said.

“I see... And your mother? Has she made mention of me as well?”

“Not directly, but she definitely seemed impressed. Not a surprise there, considering how highly they all speak of you. A tad exaggerated though, if you will forgive me,” he said, chuckling.

“Exaggerated? So you don’t believe that I might be as capable as they say?”

“Well, I have just had first hand experience of your skill, and while I’m glad of it, I’m sure you wouldn’t believe it either that you could cure the Bleeding Darkness with a wave of your hands.

Or that you are so wise the Sadguru himself said he would abdicate in your favour soon,” he said jovially.

Gyamma laughed. “No, I wouldn’t believe that,” she retorted, “The Sadguru’s seat is too low a bar for me. I aim much higher than that.”

He chuckled mildly, as though not sure if she was joking. “My name is Narme, by the way, apologies for the delayed introduction.”

“I am Gyamma. And you’re forgiven, although you should have known that greetings to a lady come before all else, even before broken arms,” she said casually.

Gyamma was surprised at her own boldness, but somehow felt comfortable with this light-hearted plainsman. His initial compliments hadn’t hurt either - who said flattery got you nowhere?

They reached the infirmary where Healer Tsiala took them in with a stern look. “A couple of months in the place, and you’re already breaking things,” he said to Narme. “Good thing someone nearby was able to think quickly.”

Tsiala turned to the short highlander woman. “Good job numbing his arm. Although I thought you were a Botanist… have you been learning some Numbing Touches too?”

Gyamma blushed. She knew the Guru who sometimes instructed the students in Healing. Like Para, he too had a liking for students who worked hard, independent of any other traits.

“Oh no, I haven’t learnt any Healing,” Gyamma confessed, “I was using a new kind of Touch Grove I’m working on. I’ve tried it before and it works quite well.”

Tsiala nodded, looking impressed.

“Most curious,” he said with a smile, “I wasn’t expecting any competition from Para’s students, but it looks like I’ll need to watch out for myself now!”

He set the bone and bound the arm in a tight split “Keep an eye on the youngster,” he told Gyamma as he released Narme from his care, “He seems like trouble.”

Narme made some uncomfortable and relieved sounds of protest. Gyamma offered to help him carry his books back, and they headed back to the stairwell. The youth happily chatted to her throughout. She learnt he was training to become a Healer himself, as they both laugh at the irony of it.

After her initial spurt of boldness, a little of her default cautiousness returned, and she silent for most part, just listening to Narme. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a liking for this lanky, genial plainsman whose good-humour, it seemed, wasn’t affected even by a broken arm.

“You know, you might be my first acquaintance in the university,” he said, as they reached his quarters.

Gyamma frowned. “Didn’t Tsiala say you’ve been here for two months? Surely, you must have met one other student?”

“Ah, yes,” Narme said scratching his head, “it seems like I’ve had a hard time getting to know people. My mother always said I spend too much time inside with my books. I should probably try harder to meet our fellow students.”

“Please don’t try any harder,'' said Gyamma laughing, “Since your current plan to meet people seems to be breaking your limbs, I would advise against more socializing.”

She hesitated a bit before adding, “I could check in on you atimes to see how you’re healing. It would also be interesting to see if my Grove had some longer-term side effects on your arm...”

Narme’s face grew worried. “L-Longer term effects?” he stammered.

“I’m only joking,” Gyamma giggled. “But... I could help you carry books to or from the library if you needed.”

He smiled back. “I think I would like that.”

Like gardens, some relationships have the luxury of growing effortlessly, maybe by virtue of their isolation, away from competing attentions. Gyamma and Narme ended up spending more and more time together, picking the same rotations for meals and chores, or quietly studying and practicing together in the evenings.

Gyamma had finally found someone she could converse with at her own level. Narme shared her enthusiasm for the most technical details of Touch sciences, and each would rave about their latest little successes, while the other listened intently.

Both saw in each other something of themselves - a passion for the unknown, taking pleasure in seeing oneself grow. And yet, to some extent, their friendship grew not despite their differences, but maybe because of it, as each found the other something new and exotic to explore and discover.