Ahana's POV

My life has always been about progress. Growing up in the heart of New Delhi, surrounded by the ceaseless hum of the city, I’ve had to work hard for every inch of my independence. My friends would say I’m driven to the point of obsession, but I think of it as passion. And they’re probably right—I’m fiercely passionate about a lot of things. Social justice, history, anything that makes me feel connected to something bigger. I thought that would be enough to ground me, to keep me rooted in the world I know.

My life, if you could call it that, had always felt like it was in fast-forward. Wake up. Fight the chaos of Delhi traffic. Navigate my way through hours of work, dinners, protests, and deadlines. New Delhi was home, but it was also this constant rush that left little room for self-reflection. It was exhilarating, but there was always something in me that felt… unfulfilled. Maybe I just needed to get away, take a break, or find something to remind me why I cared so much about the world.

But in the end, it wasn't an escape to the mountains or a retreat to the coast that changed everything. It was something far more mysterious.

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I remember the sunlit morning in New Delhi, warm and bustling. Life was simple, predictable even—my days filled with research, friends, family, and the occasional debate over chai. My obsession with history, particularly ancient Indian dynasties, had always been a source of good-natured teasing among my friends.

It was Rhea who often bore the brunt of my historical ramblings. We were opposites in almost every way, yet we fit together perfectly. She was vibrant, spontaneous, the one who pulled me out of my academic cocoon and into the real world, while I… well, I was the historian, the thinker, forever getting lost in the past. Even my family joked that if given the chance, I’d live in a museum.

That morning, I was indeed lost in my work, buried under a pile of books and notebooks at a small café where I often set up camp. The hum of New Delhi’s life pulsed around me—a mixture of voices, honking cars, and sizzling street food vendors. I was deeply engrossed in a paper on the Maurya dynasty when Rhea slid into the seat across from me, her face lighting up in a mock surprise.

"Oh look! It’s my friend, the hermit! You do remember the world outside these books, don’t you, Ahana?" she teased, rolling her eyes as she glanced at my stack of notes.

I sighed, smiling despite myself. "I know, I know, but just look at this! Did you know that ancient Indians had advanced mathematical systems and were among the first to document time cycles?"

She held up her hands. "Stop right there. I barely made it through history class, remember? You start talking about 'ancient time cycles,' and I’ll be asleep in five minutes."

I laughed. Rhea was hopeless when it came to history, but she’d never miss a chance to listen to me ramble, even if she pretended to be bored out of her mind.

"Fine," I said, relenting. "No history talk. But come on, indulge me for just a second. You know how I’ve been researching ancient artifacts, right? The museum just got this incredible new piece—a Kalachakra artifact from around 500 BCE!"

She groaned but waved a hand for me to continue. "Alright, make it quick. What’s so special about this… kala thing?"

"The Kalachakra,” I corrected, suppressing a grin. "It’s symbolic of the Wheel of Time, a concept that ancient scholars used to explain cycles of existence and cosmic order. Touching it would mean connecting with thousands of years of history. Imagine that!"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Imagine it? I’d rather not. But fine, you’ve intrigued me. Let’s go see this 'Wheel of Time' of yours."

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The museum was quieter than usual, bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight. I led Rhea through the familiar aisles, past glass cases filled with ancient relics—tools, pottery, jewelry—all remnants of lives long past. I could feel the familiar excitement building within me, the thrill that came from knowing I was surrounded by history.

"Here it is," I whispered reverently as we reached the Kalachakra exhibit. The artifact was smaller than I’d expected, a delicately carved metal disk inscribed with ancient symbols. It lay behind a glass case, resting on a velvet cushion.

Rhea peered at it, squinting. "This? This little thing is what have you all worked up?"

"Yes, this little thing," I replied, my tone filled with awe. "Do you know how many hands must have touched this, how many stories it could tell if only it could speak?"

She shook her head, clearly unconvinced. "Ahana, you’re hopeless. It’s a metal disk."

I turned back to the artifact, feeling a strange pull. I wanted—no, needed—to touch it. The metal glinted in the sunlight, casting a soft, almost mystical glow. A part of me knew I shouldn’t, but curiosity got the better of me. I leaned closer, almost mesmerized, my fingers reaching out toward it.

"Ahana! What are you doing? Don’t touch it!" Rhea’s voice cut through the fog, sounding distant, almost as if it was coming from far away. But I couldn’t stop myself.

The second my fingers brushed the cold metal, a shock ran through my body, intense and electric. It was as if time itself had slowed, then shattered. Rhea’s voice faded, the sounds of the museum dissolved, and the world around me collapsed into darkness.

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As I floated in the darkness, fragments of memories drifted in my mind—images of my friends, my family, and all the little moments that made up my life.

Growing up, I was always the odd one out in my family. My parents were practical people who valued stability and security, often baffled by my fascination with the distant past. My younger brother, Aakash, was my polar opposite—a tech genius who practically lived in the future with his gadgets and AI projects. Every family dinner became a playful war zone as he teased me about my “obsession with dead people” while I argued about the importance of understanding our history.

"How will knowing about some ancient king’s policies help you pay the bills, Ahana?" Aakash had once asked, smirking across the dinner table.

"Oh, I don’t know," I’d replied with a mock-thoughtful expression. "Maybe when you accidentally build a robot overlord, I’ll be able to use ancient wisdom to convince it to spare humanity."

He laughed, tossing a piece of bread at me. "Dream on, sis."

Then there was my group of friends, all of whom were as modern as they came. When I wasn’t busy at the museum or library, I’d spend hours with them, our conversations ranging from travel plans to binge-worthy series, with them often teasing me about my “outdated” passion.

I’d never forget the time my friend Samir caught me reading an ancient Sanskrit text at a café. He raised an eyebrow, holding up his phone. "Ahana, you know there are apps for that now, right? You could probably read the translated version in half the time."

"Not everything is better with an app, Samir!" I’d retorted, laughing as I continued reading. "Besides, this is the real deal. The words feel different in their original form."

My life was filled with these little clashes between my world and everyone else’s. Yet, they were what made life so beautifully rich and funny. I had my quirks, and my friends had theirs. They grounded me, kept me from completely vanishing into history.

And then there was Rhea—the one who knew me better than anyone else. If my friends teased me, she was the one who stood up for me, even though she didn’t understand my passion herself. She’d witnessed every late-night study session, every essay I’d agonized over, every artifact I’d rambled about.

She was the one who forced me to take breaks, dragging me to spontaneous road trips, concerts, and parties. Whenever life felt too overwhelming, she was there with her relentless optimism, reminding me that there was a world beyond books and theories.

"I swear, Ahana," she’d say, shaking her head in exasperation. "If you ever discover time travel, you’d probably ditch us all and go back to ancient India."

I’d laughed then, brushing her off. "Come on, Rhea. I’d never leave you guys."

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But here I am now, floating in an endless void. Rhea, Aakash, my friends—they felt like ghosts, fading memories as darkness enveloped me, pressing in from every side.

I wanted to scream, to pull myself back to the world I knew, to reach out to them. But the blackness was relentless, and a strange numbness seeped into my bones. My mind started to empty, memories slipping away, melting into the vast expanse of nothingness.

My last thought, before everything dissolved completely, was a

simple, desperate question:

Where am I going?

And then, all went silent.

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