Judging by his appearance, the boy appeared to be Tibetan

A young man stood before me in Bhaktapur, looking at me with a puzzled, almost innocent expression—as if I had wandered into the wrong chapter of his day. From his features, he appeared to be Tibetan. That isn’t unusual here. The Kathmandu Valley, where Bhaktapur lies, has long been a place where Tibetan faces blend naturally into the crowd. Walk through the alleys and you will notice them: shopkeepers arranging prayer beads, children in school uniforms racing past, elderly women spinning prayer wheels with the ease of breathing. And in Kathmandu itself, the great stupa of Boudhanath—the spiritual heart of Tibetan Buddhism in Nepal—anchors this presence like a second sun.

Yet, despite how rooted they seem today, most Tibetans have not lived in Nepal since ancient times. Many arrived only after Tibet was absorbed into the People’s Republic of China, fleeing across the mountains with whatever they could carry and whatever hope remained. And even now, the crossings have not entirely stopped. Each year, more people slip over the Himalayas, leaving behind the thin air of home for the uncertainty of a new life.

The young man staring at me could have been born in Kathmandu or arrived last year—it was impossible to tell. His expression held no bitterness, no dramatic story written on the surface. Just a quiet curiosity, the look of someone whose history is heavier than he lets on, but who, for this brief moment, simply wondered why a stranger had paused to look back at him.