Chapter 10: Shadows of the Past

The Rathore estate loomed before Satya like a forgotten relic of time. Its once-grand walls were now covered in ivy, its wooden doors weathered by years of neglect. The air around it was thick, as if the past itself clung to the place, refusing to let go.

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening around the anklet in his pocket. Something about this place felt too familiar.

Swallowing his unease, he pushed the creaking door open.

Echoes in the Dust

The inside was eerily silent, save for the sound of his own footsteps echoing against the marble floor. Dust danced in the dim light filtering through broken windows. Torn curtains swayed with the wind, and faded portraits lined the walls, their subjects staring at him with hollow eyes.

Satya's fingers brushed against an old wooden table. The moment he touched it—

A flash.

He staggered back as a vision surged through him.

A grand hall, alive with flickering candlelight. Laughter echoing in the air. A young woman—Meera—dressed in regal attire, smiling at him from across the room. Her eyes held a secret only they shared.

Then—darkness.

Satya gasped, gripping the table for support. The vision vanished as quickly as it had come. His pulse pounded in his ears.

What was that?

He turned, his eyes darting around the room. The house was abandoned, yet it felt alive. Like something was waiting for him to remember.

He took a deep breath and moved forward, following an invisible pull.

At the end of the hallway, he found a spiral staircase leading to the upper floors. He climbed it cautiously, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

The Room That Remembered

At the top of the stairs, he reached a large wooden door. It was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open.

Inside, the room was different from the rest of the estate. The dust was thinner, the air heavier. It was as if time had stopped here. A grand mirror stood against the wall, its surface cracked but still reflecting the room. A broken chandelier hung from the ceiling.

And in the center of the room—

An old, worn-out sketchbook.

Satya's breath hitched.

He walked toward it slowly, his fingers trembling as he picked it up. The cover was aged, but as he flipped through the pages, his entire body froze.

Sketches.

Dozens of them.

Of her.

Meera's face stared back at him from pages drawn with delicate precision—lines that matched his own style, yet these sketches were centuries old.

His chest tightened.

Another flash.

A candlelit room. Him—clutching the same sketchbook, drawing feverishly as Meera sat across from him, watching in quiet amusement.

"You always draw me as if I might disappear," she had whispered.

"Because I'm afraid you will," he had answered.

A sudden gust of wind snapped Satya out of the vision, making the pages flutter in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath.

This wasn't just a coincidence.

This was his sketchbook. From another lifetime.

And Meera had been part of it.

But if she was here then… where was she now?

The memories were coming back, but they were incomplete—pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet solve.

But one thing was clear.

He had been here before.

And something had torn them apart.

Satya clutched the sketchbook to his chest, his mind racing.

The past wasn't done with him yet.

And neither was she.