The Snow Queen’s Destiny

The town of Leh, nestled deep within the Himalayas, lay buried under a thick layer of snow, transforming the landscape into a world of white silence. Roads, rooftops, and trees were draped in frost, resembling a cake iced by winter’s own hand. The air was sharp, biting, and the world seemed frozen in time.

For most, winter was a curse—an endless stretch of bitter cold and hardship. But for Laini, it was a season of joy.

At eighteen years old, Laini had already accepted the struggles of her homeland. During the summers, she drove a taxi, guiding wide-eyed tourists through the mystical land of Ladakh. But when winter arrived, when the streets turned into slippery white paths and the world slowed to a crawl, she found another purpose—clearing snow from the roads.

It was not glamorous work, but it was work. It kept her from sitting idle at home, listening to her father’s endless pleas for her to leave Leh, study in Delhi, become a doctor—anything but what she was doing. He wanted more for her, but she did not want to leave.

So, Laini swept the snow with vigor, her cheeks flushed red from the cold, her tiny Ladhaki eyes squinting against the bright glare of the ice. She glided and skated as she worked, her boots cutting through the frost like a dancer of winter. The cold didn’t bother her—it was a part of her, as natural as the breath in her lungs.

One afternoon, as she worked, a car skidded on the icy road and crashed lightly into a pole. The driver emerged, frustrated, cursing the snow. Laini ignored him. She had long learned that people blamed the snow for their own recklessness.

Her father, however, was a different story. He never missed an opportunity to remind her that she was wasting her life.

“Why don’t you help in the shop? Or go to Delhi? Make something of yourself!” he would grumble, his voice heavy with disappointment.

Laini never argued—not because she agreed, but because she had no answers. She didn’t know what her future held. She only knew that she did not want to leave her home.

One evening, as the sky faded from gold to crimson to pink, she noticed a man approaching her. He left deep footprints in the snow, his rigid frame cutting through the wintry air.

Laini stiffened. He was a stranger—not a tourist, not a local. But he walked directly toward her.

As he reached her, he greeted her in the Ladhaki way.

“Juley.”

“Juley,” she replied cautiously.

“I am Yangchen Wangdoo,” he introduced himself. “What’s your name?”

“Laini,” she answered. “Do you need help?”

Yangchen smiled. “Actually… I think you might be able to help me.”

And so, he told her his story.

Yangchen was a National-level skier, a champion who had traveled across India and the world, winning tournaments in Gulmarg and Auli. But tragedy had struck—one of their best skiers, Eido, had suffered a severe injury, leaving the team without a replacement.

They had searched everywhere for a worthy skier, but none could match Eido’s skill.

And then, Yangchen saw Laini.

For days, he had watched her—her effortless grace on the snow, her ease, her connection with winter. She did not walk through snow—she danced with it.

“I want you to join our team,” he said. “I will train you. We will compete together.”

Laini stared in disbelief.

A national-level team? Skiing as a career? She had never dreamed such a thing was even possible. And yet—here was this man, offering her a future she had never considered.

For the first time, she imagined herself standing tall before her father, not as a disappointment, but as a champion.

A slow smile spread across her face.

She took a deep breath and whispered the sacred chant, her voice barely audible in the freezing air:

“Om Mane Padme Hum.”

Yangchen understood.

The next two months changed her life forever.

She trained in Gulmarg, learning the art of skiing, discovering that her love for the snow had prepared her in ways no one could have foreseen.

Her balance was natural, her movements instinctive.

When the day of the National Championship in Auli arrived, she felt no fear.

Dressed in her racing suit, ski poles gripped tightly in her hands, she spotted her parents in the crowd.

Her father was clapping harder than she had ever seen, his smile wide and proud.

For the first time in her life, she did not feel lost.

She knew exactly where she was meant to be.

The whistle blew.

And Laini—the girl who once cleared snow from the roads—became a legend upon it.