Elina Thomas Part 1: Spring Will Not Ask Your Name The bus wound up the narrow road, wheels kissing the edge of the mountain like a daredevil child. Aanya sat by the window, her duffel bag pressed to her side like a comfort blanket. The sky outside was an impatient shade of blue, and the hills wore a fresh green robe, tender leaves swaying in spring wind. She hadn’t spoken a word in the six-hour journey from Chandigarh to Chail. Not to the conductor. Not to the woman beside her who smelled of boiled peanuts and turmeric. Words felt like…