Pankaj took the wheel first, and the city fell away behind us in that slow, satisfying way long drives do. The road outside the window kept curving — wide turns, narrow stretches, that particular kind of road that makes you stop talking and just look. It felt less like travelling and more like watching a dream play out in real time.

Somewhere along the way, tea gardens showed up — rows of green catching the morning sun, leaves practically glowing. We pulled over without really deciding to. Some views just ask you to stop.

The rest of the drive was long enough that we swapped seats more than once, dozed off somewhere in the middle, and woke up to mountains that hadn't been there before. And then, somewhere past a quiet little bridge, we crossed into Sikkim.

We checked into our hotel in Gangtok starving — the kind of hungry that makes decisions for you. So we didn't waste time; we walked straight out toward MG Road looking for anything that would feed five very tired, very hungry friends.

We found it in a small, cosy place called Biryani Bhai — simple menu, fair prices, and biryani that was genuinely good. Sometimes the best meal of a trip isn't the fancy one, it's the one you were desperate enough to actually appreciate.

The real surprise was waiting outside. When we stepped out after dinner, MG Road had completely transformed — lit up, buzzing, crowded with people in winter jackets, cafés spilling light onto the pavement, souvenir shops still doing business well into the night. It had a kind of glow that daytime MG Road doesn't hint at.

We did what we always do in a new place — wandered into a souvenir shop and picked up a fridge magnet. Small ritual, but it's ours.

We'd planned to head to Nathula Pass the next morning. Then we actually talked to a travel agent, who broke the news: Nathula stays closed on Mondays, and the permits are their own small headache. That could have ended the trip's momentum right there.

Instead, an uncle ji at the agency — every hill town has one of these uncles who knows exactly what you should be doing instead — told us the real Sikkim was up north. Food, stay, and travel, all bundled for ₹2,500 a head. We didn't deliberate long. We said yes, and it turned out to be the best decision of the whole trip.

We left early for North Sikkim, and on the way passed a park with a clean, uninterrupted view of Kanchenjunga — the kind of sight that makes you forget you're cold.

The vehicle for the North Sikkim leg was shared — one jeep, ten people, our five plus five strangers. It was awkward for about the first hour. By the end of the day, we were a group of ten friends, not two groups sharing a ride.

Our first proper stop was Twin Waterfall, and honestly — it was smaller than we'd built it up to be in our heads. A good reminder that not every stop on a mountain itinerary needs to be a showstopper; some are just there to break the drive.

What followed more than made up for it. A viewpoint opened up that looked less like a real place and more like a wallpaper someone had set as a desktop background — a river running blue far below, mountains stacked up above, and us, somewhere in the impossibly small space between the two. Nobody said much. We just stood there looking at it.

Before Lachung, we stopped at another waterfall — evening light, cold wind coming straight off the water, and a quiet that felt earned after a long day on the road. Nearby, a roadside shop had drawn a small crowd, and we did what you do at altitude: joined the line. Mountain trips run on Maggi, and the lady cooking it at this stall by the Lachung waterfall made an unreasonably good bowl of it.

By the time we actually reached Lachung, it was dark and properly cold — the kind that gets into your jacket no matter how many layers you're wearing. We went straight to the room. But a boys' trip doesn't need good weather to have a good night, and we made sure of that.

We were up early the next morning, and the cold outside was sharper than expected — the kind that makes the idea of a warm fire genuinely emotional. We huddled around one at a small café run by, of course, another "uncle," before setting off for Zero Point.

The road there is one we're not going to forget. The sky was the clearest, bluest we'd ever seen it — no haze, no clutter, just colour. Yaks showed up along the way, unbothered by all the cameras pointed at them, and we stopped at a viewpoint where everyone, without exception, reached for their phone.

And then, Zero Point itself — mountains buried in snow, the air noticeably thinner, breathing a little harder than usual but nobody seemed to mind. For some of us, this was the first time actually standing in snow like this, not just seeing it in a picture. It felt like we'd arrived at the edge of something — not just geographically, but in some quieter way too.

Coming back down, we passed Yumthang Valley — and by then everyone was so worn out from the altitude and the day that nobody got off the vehicle. Still, you don't drive past something like this without really looking. A river cutting through the valley, a bridge that seemed almost too pretty to be functional, and rows of white prayer flags along the bank.

Locals believe that writing the names of those who've passed away on these flags and placing them by the river brings peace to their souls. Whether or not you know the belief going in, you feel something there. We didn't have a word for it beyond just — peace.

We headed back to Lachung for what turned into one of the best evenings of the whole trip. Everyone dropped whatever formality was left between strangers-turned-friends and just lived in the moment — loud, easy, no plans beyond the next round of conversation. Ranjit bhai, who'd been with us through the North Sikkim leg, made that evening one we still talk about.

We left before sunrise the next morning, stopped for breakfast somewhere along the way, and said our goodbyes to the friends we'd made in a shared jeep two days earlier. It's strange how quickly that happens in the mountains — people you didn't know existed become people you genuinely don't want to say bye to.