Evening had fallen, the skies dimmed to a dusky lavender. It must have been around three or four. The heat of the day lingered heavily in the air, refusing to be swept away by the falling sun.
Kavya, ever resourceful, had already draped damp curtains over the window to act as a makeshift cooling barrier. The idea was simple—when the hot wind from outside struck the wet fabric, a cooler breeze would flow inward. Even the table fan had been turned into a tool of innovation. She had placed a similar moist cloth in front of it, fastening it carefully, making sure the wind hit the cloth before reaching the room.
The streets outside had quieted. Karimnagar, with its usual rush and desert rhythm, had paused. Fewer people wandered the lanes, and even the birds seemed to have disappeared into shade and silence.
I sat alone in the room, unmoving, lost in thought. Iravati had left around eleven in the morning. She had mentioned her mother calling her back. "I'll return in the evening," she had said. But something in her tone had felt distant.
I had promised to visit later, but the intense heat had dulled my will. My thoughts were foggy, my limbs reluctant. But as I sat there, caught between the pull of time and lethargy, my gaze drifted to the table.
Two cards lay there—silent, innocuous, yet strangely magnetic.
One was yellow-brown. A temporary city permit—commonplace.
The other was different.
Jet black, matte finish, with a small white square in the right corner.
The black card held my attention. It wasn't just a card. It felt like a puzzle, a code waiting to be cracked.
And then it struck me.
I rose silently, careful not to disturb Kavya resting in the next room. The door creaked as I nudged it open, but I moved like a shadow, light and cautious.
I made my way to the kitchen and retrieved a candle. Not a fancy one—just an old, half-used white stick, thick with dried wax. I returned, my steps almost soundless on the tiled floor.
Back in the room, I turned off the table fan. The sudden silence felt strange.
I placed the candle on the table, lit it, and held the black card above the flame—close enough to feel the warmth, but not so close that it would burn.
A strange glow began to emerge.
The white square on the card slowly shifted in hue, turning a molten orange. Intrigued, I gently moved the card over the flame, careful, rhythmic.
Then, without warning, the entire square shimmered and morphed to a deep electric blue. White letters began appearing, forming word by word as though someone were typing them in mid-air.
Coordinates. An address.
'Ranakpur Fort Path, Sector 17, Karimnagar zone , Jodhpur. Access valid for 60 minutes.'
I read it twice, then a third time.
And then the letters began to fade.
Panic struck me like a lightning bolt. I didn't know what would happen next, but I knew I had to move. Sixty minutes. One hour. That was all I had.
I grabbed the black card, blew out the candle, and locked the door behind me.
---
The roads of Karimnagar stretched ahead like veins across scorched earth. I didn't have a vehicle, but luck favored me as I found a local rickshaw driver just beginning his break.
"Ranakpur Fort Path," I told him urgently.
He gave me a strange look. "You sure, beta? Not many go there after dark."
"I have to. It's important."
He shrugged, then motioned for me to hop in.
As the rickshaw rattled through narrow alleys and open streets, the world around me blurred. What would I find there? Why was the message time-limited? Was this some kind of secret mission? Or just a trap?
The closer we got, the emptier the roads became. Old stone structures lined the way—abandoned shops, weather-worn gates, broken boards hanging askew.
Ranakpur Fort Path wasn't a tourist destination. It was forgotten.
The rickshaw stopped a few meters short of a towering, iron-barred gate that stood guard before a narrow lane.
"Yahan se aage mein nahin jaunga," the driver muttered, clearly uneasy. "Yeh jagah achhi nahi lagti."
I nodded, paid him quickly, and stepped out.
The gate loomed, but strangely, it wasn't locked. I pushed it gently—it creaked open with a reluctant groan.
I walked slowly.
The path curved, leading to an old, ivy-covered building—three stories tall, its walls cracked, its windows missing glass panes.
But what caught my eye was a metal staircase, spiraling upward outside the structure, leading… to a fifth floor?
Wait. The building was only three stories high.
I blinked.
There it was.
A fifth level—barely visible, only in certain angles, almost like a mirage hovering above reality.
Heart steady but senses heightened, I stepped onto the spiral stairs. The metal groaned beneath my feet. I ascended carefully, each step taking me further from the known, deeper into the strange.
When I reached the top, a small wooden door awaited.
It had no handle.
Only a small white square.
I took the black card from my pocket and held it up. The white square on the card glowed faintly, and then—like a whisper—the door clicked open.
I stepped inside.
And what I saw froze me in place.
Stacks of files. Digital monitors. Strange contraptions. Maps. Photos. Faces.
My photo.
Kavya's photo.
Iravati's.
And dozens of others.
All marked. Tracked. Labeled. Each name attached to a code.
And then—
A soft whirring sound behind me.
The door had shut itself.
A voice echoed in the chamber, mechanical but human enough to send chills through my spine.
"Welcome, Subject 7. You've unlocked Level One. This knowledge will now reshape your fate."
I turned toward the source, heart racing. A screen blinked to life.
And the countdown began:
59:58
As the heavy silence of the room wrapped around me, I suddenly heard footsteps—soft, deliberate, echoing from the second floor. Someone was descending the stairs.
The air shifted. My heartbeat paused for a moment. A man appeared at the base of the staircase, dressed in a long white cloak that shimmered slightly under the dim light, adorned with intricate golden designs. He was old—his beard was fully white, his scalp mostly bald with only wisps of white hair circling the sides.
He looked to be in his seventies, maybe even older. There was an air of authority about him, something that made me sit up straighter even before he spoke.
"Who invited you here, child?" His voice was sharp, commanding, as if he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed instantly.
He walked past me and lowered himself into a comfortable chair across the room. His eyes, piercing and analytical, scanned me from head to toe, calculating. I kept my face composed, though inside I was spiraling in a whirlpool of unease.
Then his gaze locked on something—my pocket. More specifically, the card I had placed inside.
Without speaking, I pulled it out: the same card that had once been jet black, turned orange under candle flame, and finally blue after a swift movement.
He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly alert. "Ah, so you came here using this." He extended his hand slowly.
I hesitated. This card felt like my only tether to whatever had brought me here. But something in his voice—curiosity wrapped in wisdom—urged me to trust him, just enough.
I handed him the card.
He pulled out a small, sleek device—something that looked like a hybrid between a scanner and a vintage compass—and placed it gently over the card. A soft beep followed, and a sequence of data flickered on the small monitor attached to the device.
A code flashed: `JH3Rp4801..4:15:27 PM. 21/4/1880. Wednesday.`
My breath caught. I stared at the date.
1880.
My thoughts began to scramble. My mind ached with confusion.
_"1880...? That can't be..."_
And then, it happened. A strange pressure pressed against my temples. A dizziness, like standing at the edge of two colliding worlds.
Suddenly, I turned my eyes forward and addressed the air directly.
"Hello, reader. Did you just see what I saw? 1880... How is that even possible?"
"Since the day I gained awareness, I never really gave it much thought. But now it hits me—I'm a student at Devika International School, Jhunjhunu. It was 2016. This... this can't be. Either that machine is broken, which I doubt, or... I've time-traveled. 136 years into the past."
"Is this a dream? A delusion? Or... an actual phenomenon? If this is real, then what about my parents—Kanika Verma and Gautam Verma? What about my best friend Ishaan Kapoor? My crush—has someone else confessed to Aastha Sharma while I've vanished from 2016?"
"Reader, what do you think? Have you ever experienced anything like this? If yes, leave a comment below."
Snapping back, I looked toward the old man again. He had resumed working on the device. His demeanor was now less skeptical, more intrigued.
"Tell me, what do you seek?" he asked without looking up.
I hesitated. _What do I want?_ To go back? To understand? To survive?
I thought of staying here. The unknown city. The unfamiliar timeline. I had no way of navigating it. I needed something permanent. A permit. A city access card.
So, I said it.
He raised a brow and leaned back.
"Copper, iron, bronze, silver, gold... or something rarer? Diamond? Platinum?"
I blinked. _Kavya had only told me about five ranks—up to gold._
"Whatever you feel suits me," I replied cautiously.
He tapped a few buttons and the machine whirred to life again.
Then he looked at me, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Anything else you need?" he asked, tone now lighter.
I was about to respond when I noticed something strange.
His gaze softened. The rigidity in his shoulders melted. A chuckle escaped him.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he said, finally. "That card? It's not just rare—it's forgotten. Only a few even know of its creation."
His earlier arrogance had faded. Now, he was almost cool, even joking.
"You remind me of someone I met long ago," he said. "A man who claimed to have slipped through time... but I never believed him. I laughed. Thought he was mad. Maybe he wasn't."
"What's your name, boy?"
"Aarav," I said.
He nodded, as if the name stirred something.
"I'm Agastya."
There was a moment of quiet between us, heavy but calm.
"I've studied anomalies, strange happenings. I've heard stories... but I've never seen a live time traveler before. You might just be the first real one."
He chuckled again, this time deeper, more sincerely.
"This is turning out to be one hell of a day."
I smiled, unsure whether to feel safe or more nervous.
He leaned forward again, serious now.
"If you're stuck here, Aarav, you need more than a card. You need allies, cover, history. The world in 1880 is not forgiving to those out of place. Especially in a city like Jodhpur."
He stood up and walked to a large wooden drawer behind him. Pulling out an old map, he laid it flat on the table.
"This," he pointed to a circled spot, "is Ratan Vilas—an abandoned palace on the outskirts. That's where you go next. What lies inside might help you understand why you're here. And perhaps, how to get back."
I nodded, unsure if I should thank him or run.
He smirked, seeing my hesitation.
"Don't worry, Aarav. I may look old and grumpy, but once I like someone, I'm mostly chill."
He gave me a wink.
I took the newly printed permit card, the map, and stood.
"Be careful. Ratan Vilas has... its own secrets. And not everyone wants the past disturbed."
With a deep breath, I turned toward the door.
As I opened it, the wind brushed past, carrying with it the weight of 136 years.
And the beginning of an impossible journey.
"Reader," I whispered one last t
ime, "if I don't make it back—tell Aastha... never mind. Just wish me luck."
And I stepped into the mystery awaiting me.