"The Stranger in Orange". My entry for the #phototales challenge

"The Stranger in Orange". My entry for the #phototales challenge

One ordinary morning in northern India, in the quiet town of Dharamsala, a man with a white beard walked down the street. The neighbors didn’t recognize him. He wore a bright orange shirt that caught everyone’s attention. He seemed nervous, as if he carried some secret business on his mind.

He kept looking at every face he passed, like someone waiting for a signal that never came.

Finally, his face lit up with a quiet sense of hope as he had found what he came looking for.
The man standing before the orange statue, whispering his prayers, seemed to recognize him too.
It was as if both had been waiting for this exact moment, in this small temple at the edge of the hill.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. The sound of the street fell silent, even the crows on the rooftops seemed to wait.
The man in orange looked back once, and in that instant, something flickered through the air, like a pulse of light. The statue cracked slightly at the base, just enough for a single thread of orange powder to fall onto the ground.

When people looked again, both men were gone.