Chapter 8: The Name in Silver

Satya couldn't shake the weight of the dream. It felt too real, too vivid to be just a trick of his subconscious. The girl's voice still echoed in his ears—You'll find me again.

He tightened his grip on the anklet. If she had left it behind, it wasn't by accident. It was a message. A clue.

And he was going to follow it.

The Old Shop

The next morning, Satya visited the oldest part of the city—where narrow streets twisted like forgotten stories and time seemed to move slower. If the anklet had any history, someone here would recognize it.

He spent hours showing it to shopkeepers, jewelers, even antique dealers. Most shook their heads, uninterested. Some admired its craftsmanship but had no answers.

Just when frustration threatened to take over, an elderly jeweler examined the piece with furrowed brows. His fingers traced the intricate carvings with an odd familiarity.

"Where did you get this?" the old man asked, his voice quiet.

"I found it," Satya said cautiously. "Do you recognize it?"

The jeweler nodded slowly. "This is not an ordinary anklet. It was crafted over a century ago." He turned it over, pointing at a tiny symbol hidden inside the design. "See this mark? It belonged to an artisan family that made jewelry for royal households in the 19th century."

Satya's heart pounded. The 19th century. The same time period as his dreams.

"Do you know who it belonged to?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The old man sighed. "I can't say for sure, but I know where you might find more answers. There's a small historical archive at the old library across town. They keep records of noble families and their possessions. If this anklet belonged to someone important, their name might still be written there."

Satya barely heard the rest. His mind was already racing ahead.

A name. A place. A chance to finally know who she was.

Echoes in the Library

The library was ancient, filled with the scent of old paper and dust-covered history. Satya's fingers trembled as he flipped through brittle pages, searching through records of noble families from the 19th century.

And then—

His breath caught.

A hand-drawn portrait on one of the pages. A young woman with delicate features, eyes that seemed to hold centuries of longing. She looked exactly like the girl in his sketches.

Below the portrait, a name was written in faded ink.

"Meera Rathore."

Satya stared at it, his pulse roaring in his ears.

This wasn't just a coincidence. This was real.

She had lived. She had a name.

And somehow, across lifetimes, she had found her way back to him.

But why now?

And where was she now?

Satya's search wasn't over.

It was only just beginning.