chapter - 2

Hyderabad, April 1995

Anuradha sat on the steps outside the library, the city warm and buzzing around her, but her thoughts floating somewhere far.... in grey clouds and cobblestone streets she'd never seen.

Oxford, she whispered under her breath. The word felt foreign and fragile on her tongue.

The letter she had just read sat in her lap. She had read it twice. Then a third time. The ink was real. The paper, newer than anything she owned. And the words?.

She thought it was prank... So started to write...

Hyderabad, April 1995

Listen...this is not funny. If you think I believe in this nonsense then you are wrong.

Stop This prank. Stop putting things in my books. Stop following me.

If you don't, I will tell my father. He is in the police. If you make trouble for me, he will find you. He will break your bones before you know what hit you.

Don't test me.

Anuradha.

Anuradha slammed the book shut after slipping her note inside. Her handwriting looked like it was carved, not written. She pushed the book back on the third shelf from the bottom and walked away without looking back.

She didn't believe in this nonsense. Whoever was doing this... some bored student, some clerk.. would stop after reading her warning.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

Oxford, 2025

Late afternoon, a cozy little bookstore, near **** College.

Abhiram's fingers trembled slightly as he pulled the well-worn copy of Gitanjali off the shelf for the third time that week. The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, and the faint smell of old paper mixed with tea lingered in the air.

He opened the book, expecting silence. But instead…

There it was.

A sheet of paper, new yet somehow weathered, folded in thirds. His breath caught.

Carefully, almost reverently, he unfolded it and began to read...The ink of Anuradha's new letter bled a little at the edges, as if it had been written fast.

He read the first line and laughed out loud.

Listen...this is not funny. If you think I believe in this nonsense then you are wrong.

Stop this prank. Stop putting things in my books. Stop following me.

If you don't, I will tell my father. He is in the police. If you make trouble for me, he will find you. He will break your bones before you know what hit you.

Don't test me,

Anuradha.

He shook his head, still smiling. "Fierce," he muttered. "I never thought you'd be this fierce."

he thought in his mind, " But, How is this possible?." sometime later, He reached for his pen and began to write, careful but lighthearted...

Dear Anuradha,

I thought you wanted me to write back. That's why I did.

I never imagined you’d think I was following you... I'm thousands of miles and thirty years away. I'm not a prankster. I'm just a student who found your first letter in Gitanjali.

Your words felt real. I wanted to answer. That's all.

If my reply upset you, I'm sorry. You don't owe me anything. But I hope you don't stop writing just because of this.

You sounded lonely in your first letter.

Abhiram.

He hesitated, then added at the bottom...

ఇంకో విషయం(Inkō viṣayaṁ): Please don't set your father on me. I'm innocent.

And with that letter safely tucked inside Gitanjali once again...

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

Hyderabad, April 1995.

The next day, Anuradha pulled the book off the shelf with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. She had told herself she wouldn't look. But her fingers itched.

Inside was another letter.

She opened it.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

To be continued....

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