Whispers of Time⌛️💟
What happens when a girl from 2095, raised amidst the bustling streets of New York and rooted in the modern world of AI & Technology, finds herself teleported back in time to the 1550s? Meet Anaira Kapoor, a fiercely independent...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The soft chime of a notification broke through my dreamless sleep, pulling me back into reality. I groaned, reaching blindly for my ScreenieWatch, and squinted at the message hovering above my wrist.
Dad: "Anaira, have you thought about my request? Let me know today."
I sat up in bed, my mind already spinning. Thought about it? Of course, I'd thought about it. The idea had been gnawing at me for days, refusing to let go. No matter how hard I tried to distract myself—with cooking, singing, or even ridiculous adventures with Jiya—the weight of my dad's request lingered in the back of my mind like an unfinished sentence.
Did I want to do it? Could I do it? Every time I tried to answer, my thoughts circled back to those honey-colored eyes, staring at me from the shadows of my memory.
I got ready on autopilot, my hands moving through the motions as my mind stayed somewhere far away. By the time I looked at myself in the mirror, I still hadn't come to a decision.
No more overthinking, I told myself. You need answers. And you know where to find them.
Without another thought, I grabbed my bag and headed out.
It had been five months since I'd last visited Umaid Bhavan, but the moment it came into view, I felt the same pull that had haunted me all those months ago.
The palace stood tall and proud, its sandstone walls glowing faintly in the morning light. It looked exactly the same as I remembered—majestic, unyielding, and somehow alive, as though it had been waiting for me to return.
I stepped through the grand gates, the cool air inside the palace brushing against my skin like a whisper. Every step I took echoed faintly, the sound carrying through the hallways like a reminder of the history held within these walls.
My feet moved of their own accord, leading me deeper into the palace. I passed the same corridors I'd wandered months ago, my eyes tracing the intricate carvings and portraits that lined the walls. Each painting seemed to watch me as I walked by, their gazes filled with a silent understanding.
Finally, I stopped in front of the grand family portrait—the one that had stayed etched in my mind all this time.
King Virat Singh Chauhan stood at the center, his imposing figure radiating strength and authority. In his arms was the infant Princess Roohi, her tiny hand curled around his finger. Beside him, Queen Anamika's serene presence balanced his intensity, while little Prince Veeransh clung to her saree with wide, curious eyes.
