chapter - 4

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."

Anuradha didn't smile.

"I know someone would reply," she said, folding her arms, "but I never thought.... Someone claiming... they're from thirty years in the future?"

"Even if he read it... he could've just said, Hey, I found your letter like... Something normal. Not this time-travel nonsense."

Meera grins a little said, "You read it like more than twenty times, though."

"That's because it felt real," Anuradha snapped, then caught herself. "I mean... not the future part. Just... the way he wrote. It didn't sound like a joke."

Meera studied her for a beat, and asked her, "So what now?".

Anuradha looked back at the shelf, at the book, like it owed her an answer.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe I write back. Maybe I call him out. Or maybe..." She trailed off.

"Maybe you wait?" Meera offered gently.

She didn't reply.

Instead, she turned and walked away and leaving Meera to stare after her...

 "Hey, wait... I am coming," Meera Said. And she ran after her.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

2025...

The rain hadn't stopped for hours. Abhiram sat by the window, watching his reflection blur in the glass. Anuradha's challenge echoed in his head like a dare from a ghost he wasn't sure he believed in himself.

"Tell me one thing that happens in the future.

Something I can verify. Something I'll remember."

He didn't want to tell her something terrifying. No assassinations, no floods, no endings. And he didn't want to pick something too small, either... something she'd think he invented.

Finally, he wrote...

 Dear Anuradha,

I've thought a lot about what to tell you. The future is... complicated. Messy. Full of wonder and heartbreak. And I don't want to burden you with any of that.

So here is one thing. One simple truth.

On April 30th, 1995, India will win the Asia Cup in cricket.

We'll play against Sri Lanka in the final, and we'll win.

You don't have to believe me now. Just wait. When the newspapers write about it, when the radios announce the score, when your friends talk about it... remember this letter.

That's how you'll know, I'm real,

Abhiram.

He folded the paper and slid it into the envelope with practiced care. Outside, the rain tapped a soft rhythm against the window, as if applauding the moment.

And somewhere, thirty years away, under the roots of a tree in Hyderabad, and his words were waiting to be found.

...****************...

Hyderabad, 30 April 1995

The morning sun poured through the open window, warming the cracked walls of Anuradha's small room. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and dust. Outside, the streets hummed with life....children chasing cricket balls, vendors calling out their wares, and radios blaring cricket commentary from every corner.

she sat at the edge of her cot, her heart a restless drum in her chest. The letter from Abhiram was folded neatly beside her, a fragile tether to a future she barely dared imagine.

She had read his words again and again, trying to steady the trembling hope inside her.

"On April 30th, 1995, India will win the Asia Cup."

...****************...

To be continued....

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