chapter - 3

Hyderabad, April 1995.

The next day, Anuradha pulled the book off the shelf with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. She had told herself she wouldn't look. But her fingers itched.

Inside was another letter.

She opened it.

The first words made her pause.

By the second line, the irritation was gone.

"I never imagined you’d think I was following you...

 I'm thousands of miles and thirty years away…"

She read his words again. He sounded sincere. Too sincere for a prank.

when she closes her eyes His words came in her mind...

"Thousands of miles and thirty years away."

Her fingers hovered over her pen for a moment. Then she started writing.... not as sharp this time, but still cautious. Still testing.

Hyderabad, 20 April 1995.

Abhiram (if that's really your name),

I don't know what to say. I don't even know how to write this kind of letter.

The truth is… I didn't think anyone would ever find what I wrote. I wrote it for myself... to make the day hurt a little less. I never expected anyone would actually read it.

And definitely not someone thirty years in the future. That sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.

So how should I believe you?.

Anyone can pretend to be someone from the future. Anyone can say sweet things in a letter.

Tell me one thing that happens in the future.

Something I can verify. Something I'll remember.

If you're telling the truth, prove it.

Anuradha.

P.S : My father really is in the police. So be careful what you say next.

...----------------...

Oxford, 2025.

Abhiram stared at the new letter, heart thudding just a little faster. She hadn't told him to stop.

She hadn't ignored him....She was asking for proof.

he sat down with his notebook, the rain outside falling harder now, ticking like time itself against the window. He turned to a fresh page.

"One thing from the future," he whispered.

Something she can check.

...----------------...

Hyderabad, 21 April 1995.

The ceiling fan above them creaked as it spun lazily, stirring the warm air that smelled faintly of old books and dust.

It was the kind of dry heat that clung to your skin and made even silence feel heavier. Anuradha and her friend, Meera walked past the rows of shelves in the library.

"Third shelf from the bottom," Anuradha whispered.

Meera rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I remember."

They crouched side by side in the poetry section. Anuradha's fingers hovered over the spine of Gitanjali, her breath caught in her chest.

She pulled the book out slowly.

Nothing fell.

She flipped it open.

Nothing tucked inside.

Just the same yellowed pages, smelling of old paper and forgotten hours.

Anuradha stared at it for a long moment. "I knew it," she said, and her voice low.

Meera tilted her head. "What?"

"He's a fraud. A liar. Or just… someone playing a stupid joke."

Meera laughed, not unkindly. "Seriously?, You left a letter that said "If you find this, write me back. I mean it." She mimicked her tone, grinning. "Obviously someone was going to reply, If it read."

...----------------...

To be continued...

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