My heart pounded in my ears as I realized the phone I was frantically searching for didn’t even exist in 1942.
Bolting upright in the creaking wooden bed, I clutched a threadbare blanket while my eyes darted around the dimly lit bedroom. A single oil lamp cast flickering shadows across the walls, illuminating propaganda posters with ominous wartime messages. Where was my phone? My laptop? My tablet?
Nothing.
Instead, I spotted a small, outdated radio and a shelf of ancient-looking medical bottles. The only familiar thing was the faint peach color of the walls—almost the same shade as my room back home in 2025.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered, my stomach churning with anxiety. Everything around me belonged in a history textbook, not my reality.
The bedroom door creaked open. A thin, worried-looking man carried in a tray with a chipped porcelain teacup, while an anxious woman hovered behind him.
“Elisabeth, are you feeling better?” the woman asked, her German accent thick as she approached the bed.
“What? No—I’m not Elisabeth,” I stammered. “My name is Meera. Meera Sharma. I live in India. In 2025!”
They exchanged a worried glance.
“The fever still has her delirious,” the man—Mr. Fischer, I’d soon learn—whispered to his wife. “Dr. Adler said it might take time.”
“I’m not delirious!” I protested, my voice rising. “Look, my parents are Reena and Rohan Sharma. We live in Delhi. I have a smartphone and—” I stopped, seeing their confused expressions.
Mrs. Fischer sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a cool cloth to my forehead. “Shh, child. You need to rest. Your head injury has given you strange dreams.”
I pushed her hand away. “This isn’t a dream! I’m from the future! There are computers and electric cars and—” My voice cracked as tears welled up. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand.
Mr. Fischer set the tea down and sighed. “Elisabeth, please. The war has everyone’s nerves on edge. Just drink this and try to sleep.”
A wave of panic surged through me. The scratchy linens, the antique vanity mirror, the outdated grammar on the posters—everything bombarded me with proof that I was far from 2025. I threw the blanket aside and jumped to my feet.
“I need to find someone who understands,” I declared, pushing past them. “Someone must know how to get me back home!”
“Elisabeth, stop!” Mrs. Fischer called after me, but I was already racing down the hallway, ignoring their worried pleas.
I fumbled with the latch on the heavy wooden front door, finally wrenching it open. The sight that greeted me stole my breath away—a narrow, cobblestone street that looked straight out of a black-and-white movie. Overhead, the sky hung gray and ominous, and distant sirens wailed. Tattered posters plastered nearby walls, warning citizens to watch for spies.
The frigid air bit into my skin through the thin nightgown I wore. This was real. Too real.
“Hello? Koi hai?” I called out in Hindi, then switched to English. “Please, can anyone help me?”
A few passersby stared, then quickened their pace, avoiding eye contact. A woman in a long woolen coat hurried her children along, shooting me a suspicious glance.
“I need to find a phone!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the stone buildings. “I need to call my parents!”
That’s when I spotted a middle-aged woman with a woven shopping basket. Something in her expression changed when she saw me—recognition. She knew me.
I rushed toward her. “Please, you have to help me! I’m not supposed to be here!”
The woman nearly dropped her basket when I collided with her. “Elisabeth? What are you doing out of bed? And in your nightclothes!”
“My name isn’t Elisabeth! I’m Meera Sharma from 2025!” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. “I need to find a way back to my time! Do you know about smartphones? The internet? Anything!”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Child, have you taken a bad fall? Your illness must be worse than we thought.”
A small crowd began to gather, attracted by my outburst. Their whispers grew louder with each passing second. I felt like an animal in a zoo, trapped and on display.
“You don’t understand,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. “I woke up here, but this isn’t my time or my home. I shouldn’t be in 1942!”
The confusion on the woman’s face only heightened my despair. No one understood.
Suddenly, a teenage girl pushed through the growing crowd. Unlike the others, her expression showed fascination rather than fear.
“What did you say about 2025?” she asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
I latched onto this thread of hope. “I’m from there—the future. We have phones that fit in our pockets and can talk to anyone in the world. We have cars that drive themselves and—”
“That sounds incredible,” she interrupted, actually listening instead of dismissing me. “I’m Helena.”
“Meera,” I replied, relief washing over me. “Please believe me. I just want to go home.”
Helena tilted her head. “What did you call this ‘phone’ again? How does it work?”
Before I could answer, an older man carrying a weathered medical bag approached. The crowd parted for him respectfully.
“I’m Dr. Adler,” he said calmly. “Let’s check you over, shall we?” He gestured for the crowd to step back, then checked my pulse and shined a small flashlight in my eyes.
“Doctor, she’s talking about strange machines and claiming to be from the future,” the neighbor woman explained.
Dr. Adler’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Is that so? Tell me more about this… future of yours.”
I took a deep breath. “We have digital payments, solar-powered cars, and smartphones that can access all the world’s knowledge. I was born in 2010 in India, not here. This isn’t my time or place!”
The doctor studied me intently. While he clearly didn’t believe me, something in his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely dismissing my claims either.
Our conversation was cut short by the appearance of uniformed men at the corner of the street. The crowd grew hushed as a stern-faced officer approached.
“What’s the disturbance here?” he demanded, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Nothing to worry about, Sergeant Koenig,” Dr. Adler replied smoothly. “Just a patient of mine suffering from delirium.”
The sergeant narrowed his eyes. “Delirium, or something else? We’ve had reports of strange talk—talk that sounds like coded messages.”
My blood ran cold. In wartime, someone babbling about futuristic technology could easily be mistaken for a spy.
“She needs to come with us for questioning,” Sergeant Koenig decided, motioning to his men.
Panic surged through me. Two soldiers stepped forward to grab my arms.
“No! Stay away from me!” I twisted out of their grasp and accidentally bumped into the sergeant, who staggered backward.
A soldier reached for me again, his face hardening. Without thinking, I shoved him away.
“She’s just confused!” Helena jumped in front of me. “She has a fever—she doesn’t know what she’s saying!”
The neighbor woman joined in. “I’ve known this child for years, Sergeant. She’s no troublemaker. This is the illness speaking, nothing more.”
Dr. Adler raised a placating hand. “I’ll take full responsibility for her. There’s no need for force.”
The soldiers hesitated, looking to their sergeant for direction. In that moment of confusion, I slipped away, ducking behind a rickety fruit stand.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I crouched in the shadows. A gust of wind sent something fluttering across the cobblestones toward me—an old, sepia-toned photograph. I snatched it up instinctively.
The image showed a girl who looked startlingly like me, dressed in 1940s attire—a collared dress and a hat. The backdrop was a cobbled plaza with a statue I didn’t recognize. With trembling fingers, I turned the photograph over.
There was an inscription: “Elisabeth, April 1941.”
My breath caught. Elisabeth—the name they kept calling me. This girl existed here a year before now, and she could have been my twin. Was this why everyone thought I was her?
I leaned against the damp stone wall of a narrow alley, clutching the photograph like a lifeline. This wasn’t just a random mix-up of identity—it was my first real clue to understanding how I ended up in 1942.
The weight of my situation crashed down on me. I was trapped nearly a century in the past, in the middle of a world war, with everyone believing I was someone else. But this photograph proved there was more to the story.
Wiping away my tears, I took a deep breath. I would find out who Elisabeth was, why we looked identical, and most importantly, how to get back to 2025. With danger lurking in every shadow, I knew one thing for certain—I had to solve this impossible puzzle if I ever wanted to see my family again.
—
Rumors slithered through the narrow streets like poison. I pressed myself against the cold stone wall of an alley, watching clusters of townspeople gather in doorways. Their hushed voices carried fragments of conversation that made my stomach clench.
“—speaking of impossible machines—”
“—must be sending coded messages—”
“—the authorities should investigate—”
My fingers found the photograph hidden in my coat pocket, tracing its worn edges. The weight of it felt like both a lifeline and an anchor, tethering me to a mystery I desperately needed to solve.
A patrol of soldiers marched past the alley’s entrance, their boots striking the cobblestones in perfect rhythm. I held my breath until they passed, but the sight of their rifles slung over their shoulders sent a fresh wave of panic through me. More uniformed men stood at street corners now, their eyes scanning the crowds with predatory intensity.
I recognized Sergeant Koenig among them, barking orders as his men stopped random pedestrians, demanding papers. My heart hammered against my ribs as I remembered our earlier confrontation. The suspicion in his eyes when I’d mentioned smartphones and computers—how quickly that suspicion had hardened into something dangerous.
Exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t keep running forever. Retreating through back streets, I made my way to the Fischers’ house. The familiar peach-colored walls offered little comfort now. I collapsed into a worn armchair in the living room, finally letting the tears flow.
“Mummy, Papa,” I whispered in Hindi, the words catching in my throat. “Where are you?”
The creak of floorboards announced Mr. Fischer’s presence before I saw him. He stood in the doorway, worry etched deep in the lines of his face.
“The neighbors speak of spies,” he said quietly. “Of coded messages hidden in strange talk of future machines.” His eyes met mine. “You understand the danger this brings to our house?”
Before I could respond, a gentle knock interrupted us. Frau Müller entered, carrying a loaf of bread that looked small and precious in these times of rationing.
“She’s just a child,” Frau Müller insisted, but I noticed how her eyes darted nervously to the windows. “The shock of her accident—it’s made her confused. Nothing more.”
Mr. Fischer’s pacing grew more agitated. “The Gestapo won’t see it that way. Not with the recent infiltrations in the region.”
I hugged myself tighter, guilt mixing with fear. These people had shown me kindness, and I was putting them at risk. But where else could I go? In 1942, a teenage Indian girl alone on the streets would draw even more attention.
Night fell, bringing no peace. Sleep eluded me, my mind racing with thoughts of home. A strange creaking sound drew me from my bed. Following it through the darkened hallway, I found a door I’d never noticed before—standing slightly ajar.
The beam of my borrowed lantern revealed a cramped storage room. Dusty crates and boxes formed precarious towers, and among them lay scattered papers—war documents, ration lists, and letters marked with official stamps. My hands trembled as I realized the Fischers were hiding their own dangerous secrets.
Settling in a corner, I pulled out the photograph again. Something caught my eye—an ornate seal in the corner, nearly hidden beneath the handwritten date. The design showed a swirling pattern around what looked like a stylized clock face.
Pain suddenly lanced through my head. The storage room blurred, replaced by a vivid flash of my modern kitchen in Delhi. My mother stood at the counter preparing chai, while my father called my name with worry in his voice.
“—the heritage project—” my mother was saying. “—family origins in Europe—”
The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving me gasping. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but determination replaced my despair. This wasn’t random. Something had pulled me here, and I would find out why.
Dawn brought new terrors. The heavy knock of rifle butts against doors echoed through the neighborhood. Helena burst into the house, her face flushed from running.
“They’re searching every house,” she panted. “Sergeant Koenig—he’s leading them.”
I scrambled to hide the photograph and documents as boots thundered on the front steps. Mr. Fischer opened the door before they could break it down. Three soldiers pushed past him, Sergeant Koenig in the lead.
Mrs. Fischer wrung her hands by the staircase while the soldiers ransacked the living room. Helena slipped behind the kitchen door, trying to conceal our research into the photograph’s markings. I pressed myself behind a heavy curtain, hardly daring to breathe.
The floorboard beneath my foot creaked. A soldier spun toward the sound, his hand reaching for me. I glimpsed Helena lunging forward.
“Sir! I found something strange here!” she called, drawing his attention.
I twisted away, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst. The soldier turned to investigate Helena’s false lead, and I slipped into the shadows of the hallway.
Later, when the soldiers finally left, Dr. Adler arrived. His weathered face looked graver than usual as he pulled a small leather journal from his coat.
“There are stories,” he said quietly, “of people vanishing and reappearing decades later. Places where time itself seems to… bend.”
He spread the photograph on the table alongside his journal, pointing to the clock-face seal. “This symbol—it appears in multiple accounts. I believe your presence here is no accident, Meera.”
My fingers traced the swirling pattern. “Someone brought me here deliberately?”
Dr. Adler’s expression darkened. “There are powerful people interested in such phenomena. The occupying forces—or others even more secretive—may have found a way to manipulate these temporal anomalies.”
I stared at the photograph, at the face so like my own captured in sepia tones. The mystery of how I arrived here had deeper roots than I’d imagined. But understanding that made me more determined than ever to find my way back home—before those who engineered my displacement could stop me.
—
The wail of bomb sirens jolted me awake, their eerie cry echoing through dark streets of 1942. My hands trembled as I rushed to the window, watching orange flashes illuminate the horizon like deadly fireworks. The blackout curtains whipped in the frigid wind, revealing glimpses of endless ration lines stretching along the cobblestone sidewalk.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching civilians shuffle past in heavy wool coats. Their breath formed clouds in the pre-dawn air as they clutched wrinkled ration cards. Even from here, I could see the tension in their shoulders, hear the worried whispers about an impending offensive. Two soldiers marched past, sweeping powerful flashlight beams across windows to enforce the strict curfew.
My stomach churned. Every passing day in this war-torn timeline felt like another nail in my coffin. If I couldn’t find a way back to 2025 soon, I might be trapped here forever.
A floorboard creaked behind me. I spun around to find Dr. Adler in the doorway, his lined face grave in the dim light. He gestured for me to follow him into the narrow hallway of the Fischer home.
“Look,” he whispered, pointing to a torn propaganda poster. Bold letters urged citizens to report any suspicious behavior. “Special interrogators arrived last night. They’re searching for people with… unusual knowledge.”
My breath caught. “What do you mean?”
“The war leaders believe that advanced technological information could shift the balance of power.” His voice dropped even lower. “Your talk of 2025 has not gone unnoticed. If they catch you, they’ll want everything you know about the future.”
Ice settled in my chest. Even Dr. Adler, who’d shown me nothing but kindness, could only shield me so much. I’d never felt more alone.
Later that afternoon, I hunched over scattered texts in Dr. Adler’s cramped study, desperately searching for answers. A faded note in the margin of an ancient manuscript caught my eye. My finger traced the elaborate script, heart beginning to race as I decoded the meaning—it described a celestial alignment said to open pathways between times.
“Dr. Adler!” I called out. “Look at this date—it’s only days away!”
He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, examining the page. “There are local legends about a hidden location… an old bell tower perhaps, or an abandoned chapel. This could be the same phenomenon that brought you here.”
Hope flickered in my chest for the first time in days. I clutched the manuscript, knowing this might be my only chance to return home.
That night, Helena helped me slip past the patrols to reach the library’s neglected wing. We crept through towering shelves, our lantern casting dancing shadows across dusty volumes.
“I’ve heard stories about that old chapel since I was little,” Helena whispered, leading me down a narrow aisle. “People claim they see strange lights there at midnight, and phantom bells ringing when the tower’s been empty for years.”
Every new discovery made my pulse quicken. Though the empty library gave me chills, the thought of seeing my parents again drove me forward. I glanced at Helena, grateful for her unwavering support. She’d become more than just an ally—she was a true friend.
Following the cryptic directions from Dr. Adler’s texts, we found the bell tower on the town’s outskirts. Its jagged silhouette rose against the starlit sky, half-collapsed from artillery damage. My breath caught when I spotted a familiar swirling symbol carved above the doorway—the same one from my mysterious photograph.
The wind howled through broken windows, sending loose stones clattering into the darkness below. Graffiti on one wall referenced an old historical society that investigated “abnormal phenomena.” My skin prickled with goosebumps. Something about this place felt charged with latent energy, as if the very stones remembered passages through time.
Back in Dr. Adler’s study, I pored over his journal by lamplight. My fingers traced an intricate diagram showing how to activate the rift—an ancient chant, precisely placed relics, all timed with the moon’s position. According to his careful notes, the alignment would peak in just two nights.
“I think this is it!” I exclaimed to Helena and Dr. Adler, my voice cracking. “A real way home!” For a moment, I let myself imagine hugging my parents again, sleeping in my own bed, returning to my life in modern India.
Dr. Adler’s rare smile confirmed his faith in the theory. Helena squeezed my hands, her excitement mixed with concern about what might go wrong. Tears slipped down my cheeks—tears of relief, of hope, of fear that it might not work.
The thundering of boots on the stairs shattered our moment of joy. The door burst open, revealing Sergeant Koenig and his secret police squad, rifles raised.
“Search everything!” Koenig barked. His men tore through drawers and cabinets, sending papers flying. When they found the diagrams with their cryptic symbols and astronomical charts, their shouts echoed off the walls.
Dr. Adler stepped between us and the soldiers. “Run!” he ordered, shoving his journal into my hands. A guard grabbed him, wrestling him to the floor. Koenig aimed his pistol.
“The diagrams—explain them!” the sergeant demanded.
My throat closed up as Dr. Adler crumpled under the soldier’s grip. He locked eyes with me, gasping out one final warning: “The rift is unpredictable… choose the moment carefully.”
Helena yanked my arm, pulling me toward the side door. We raced down a narrow corridor as shouts echoed behind us. She toppled a tall bookshelf, buying us precious seconds to escape into the night.
My lungs burned as we sprinted through bomb-damaged streets. I clutched the journal to my chest, knowing Dr. Adler’s sacrifice would mean nothing if his instructions fell into the wrong hands.
Back in the study, Sergeant Koenig gathered the scattered pages, his eyes gleaming as he recognized references to dimensional travel. This was bigger than espionage—this was a chance to reshape history itself.
“Find that girl!” he ordered his men. “She’s now our highest priority target.”
Hidden behind an overturned cart in a distant alley, I tried to steady my breathing. Dr. Adler was either captured or worse. The authorities were hunting the rift. And in two days, the alignment would come. I had to choose—risk the unpredictable portal, or remain trapped in this war-torn past forever.
Helena squeezed my shoulder in the darkness. “Whatever you decide,” she whispered, “I’m with you.”
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. One way or another, everything would change when that alignment came.
—
My heartbeat echoed through the damp cellar as another pair of heavy boots marched past the narrow window above. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, willing my breath to stay quiet. Helena sat beside me, her shoulder warm against mine as we listened to the chaos unfolding in the streets.
“Achtung! All citizens must remain indoors!” The announcement crackled through loudspeakers, the German words harsh and commanding. “Anyone found outside after curfew will face immediate detention!”
Sergeant Koenig’s voice carried even through the thick cellar walls. I could picture him out there, stern-faced and suspicious, directing his men to set up barricades and checkpoints. The town was becoming a prison, and I was running out of time.
Mrs. Fischer appeared at the top of the cellar stairs, her silhouette tense. “They’re going door to door,” she whispered. “searching every house.”
Mr. Fischer shuffled past her, carrying a small basket. The dim lantern light revealed the worry etched on his weathered face as he set two jars of preserved vegetables before us. “It’s all we can spare,” he said softly. “But you must keep up your strength.”
I stared at the meager offering, guilt twisting in my stomach. These people were risking everything to protect me, even though they still thought I was their Elisabeth. The musty scent of earth and aging wine barrels filled my nose as I picked up one of the jars with trembling fingers.
“Danke,” I whispered, the German word feeling strange on my tongue. A week ago, I’d been scrolling through Instagram in my bedroom in Delhi. Now I was hiding in a 1940s cellar, hoping the soldiers wouldn’t find me.
The back door creaked open, and we all froze. But it was only Frau Müller, our neighbor, slipping in with a small bundle. “The searches are getting worse,” she said, her voice barely audible. “They’re convinced there’s a spy in our midst. My word carries some weight still, but…” She shook her head. “It won’t protect you forever.”
I hugged my knees to my chest, exhaustion seeping into every bone. How many more nights could I keep this up? The photograph I’d found earlier felt heavy in my pocket—the mysterious image of Elisabeth that had started me down this path. But what good was a clue if I couldn’t follow it?
“Maybe…” My voice cracked. “Maybe I should just turn myself in.”
“No!” Helena grabbed my arm, her eyes fierce in the lantern light. “What about Dr. Adler? What he discovered about the rift? If you give up now, his sacrifice means nothing.”
She was right. Dr. Adler had risked everything to help me understand how I’d ended up here, and how I might get back. If I could just reach the bell tower during the alignment he’d mentioned…
A distant explosion rattled the cellar walls, making the lantern flame dance. Another air raid beginning. But as I watched the shadows shift, something clicked in my mind—a memory from my modern physics class. The way we’d learned to decode complex patterns, looking for hidden meanings in seemingly random data.
I pulled out Dr. Adler’s notes, spreading them on an old crate. “Helena, look at this diagram. It’s not just about astrology—it’s a cipher! The numbers… they’re like the coding puzzles we learned in school. Well, that I learned. Will learn?” I shook my head. Time travel made verb tenses complicated.
“You think you can decode it?” Helena leaned closer, studying the cryptic markings.
“Maybe. But we need the rest of his research. The papers the soldiers took when they…” I swallowed hard, remembering Dr. Adler’s arrest.
“The municipal building,” Helena whispered. “That’s where they’re holding him. And his confiscated belongings.”
“It’s heavily guarded,” Frau Müller warned. “Two armed men at all times.”
I traced the diagram with my finger, determination replacing fear. “During the blackout, when the air raid sirens start—that’s our chance. There’s a weak spot in the wall, isn’t there? Behind the old bakery?”
Helena nodded slowly, a plan forming in her eyes. “The guards change shifts at midnight. If we time it right…”
Another explosion boomed overhead, closer this time. The cellar dust rained down on us as sirens began to wail. Perfect timing.
“We have to try,” I said, standing. “The alignment Dr. Adler mentioned—it’s our only chance to open the rift. If we miss it…” I left the thought unfinished. The idea of being trapped here forever, never seeing my real parents again, was too horrible to voice.
Mr. and Mrs. Fischer exchanged worried glances. They’d been kind to me, even when I insisted I wasn’t their daughter. Now Mrs. Fischer pressed a small loaf of bread into my hands, her eyes glistening. “Be careful, liebling.”
We waited for the sirens to reach their peak before slipping out into the darkness. The streets were eerily empty, lit only by occasional flashes of anti-aircraft fire. Helena led the way through a maze of narrow alleys, both of us pressing against cold stone walls whenever searchlights swept past.
The municipal building loomed ahead, its windows dark except for one faint light on the second floor. My heart thundered against my ribs as we approached the crumbling section of wall. A guard’s silhouette passed by, rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Now,” Helena mouthed, and we darted forward.
The next few minutes were a blur of silent footsteps and held breath. We found the records room lit by a single bulb, a sleeping guard slumped in his chair. Dr. Adler’s notebooks lay scattered across a desk, their pages marked with his distinctive handwriting.
And there, in the corner—Dr. Adler himself, conscious but weak. His eyes widened when he saw us.
Helena lifted a heavy ledger and hurled it across the room. The crash startled the guard awake, but I was already moving, snatching the notebooks and helping Dr. Adler to his feet. He stifled a groan as Helena kicked over a filing cabinet, blocking the guard’s path.
“Intruders!” The shout echoed through the building as we fled. Sergeant Koenig’s voice boomed from somewhere below, ordering his men to seal the exits.
We burst into the night air just as searchlights flooded the courtyard. But Frau Müller was waiting with a horse-drawn cart, exactly where we’d planned. “Quickly!”
We scrambled aboard as shots rang out behind us. The cart wheels clattered over cobblestones as we raced toward the old chapel, its bell tower a dark sentinel against the star-filled sky.
“The alignment,” Dr. Adler gasped as we helped him down. “You must complete the sequence before midnight, or all is lost.”
I spread the notes across the stone altar, my hands shaking as I lined up the pages. The coded instructions were clear now—the positions, the chant, the timing. Everything had to be perfect.
“Meera.” Helena gripped my hand. “They’re coming.”
Boots thundered outside as I placed the final element—an ancient medallion—at the center of the carved floor emblem. Energy crackled through the air as moonlight struck the exact angle Dr. Adler had calculated.
The space before me shimmered and split, revealing impossible images. My parents in our modern kitchen, calling my name. Other timelines, other possibilities. And there—the girl from the photograph, wearing my face but not my life.
Shouts and pounding filled the chapel. I had seconds to choose.
“Go,” Helena whispered, tears in her eyes. “Don’t forget us.”
I stepped into the light, my heart racing as reality twisted around me. The last thing I heard was the chapel door splintering open, and then…
I gasped awake in my own bed, sunlight streaming through my window. For a moment, I lay frozen, afraid to move. Then I heard my mother’s voice from the kitchen, speaking rapid-fire Hindi into her phone about a business meeting.
My fingers found something in my pocket—the photograph, its edges worn but the image clear as ever. I pressed it to my chest and whispered, “They’ll never believe me—but I’ll never forget.”
This is a fictional story, but when viewed through a realistic lens, it resonates with real-world events. Throughout history, there have been instances where people went to sleep in a time of peace and awoke to a world transformed by conflict. Take Ukraine, for example—once a thriving, modern country, but war suddenly thrust its people into conditions reminiscent of the 1940s, stripping away electricity, essential technology, and everyday comforts. Just like Meera finds herself displaced in an unfamiliar land among strangers, countless individuals today are forced to seek refuge in foreign countries due to war. Conflict has the power to erase progress and disrupt lives, but in the end, it is humanity and resilience that prevail.