The house was unnervingly silent, despite the afternoon sun spilling through the wooden lattice windows. Even in daylight, an eerie stillness clung to the air, as though the walls themselves held their breath.

I moved carefully, my footsteps light against the polished stone floor. Aunt Radha and Shaku were resting, the maids preoccupied elsewhere. Now was my only chance.

Kala Aunt's courtyard lay ahead, its entrance slightly ajar. My heart thudded in my chest as I pushed the door open, the hinges whispering their discontent.

The courtyard was pristine. Not a single leaf disturbed its surface. It was unsettling too perfect, as if time had refused to move within these walls, waiting for its rightful owner to return.

My eyes flickered across the space, tracing the outline of the three rooms that bordered it. The air here felt different, untouched by the decay of time. Unlike Saudamini's chamber, which held no special luxuries, this space screamed of favor and indulgence. Perhaps Kala Aunt had been cherished.

A stray thought crossed my mind. Should I ask for money too?

I shook my head, scowling. What am I thinking?

I stepped inside her sitting room. It was immaculate, frozen in time. A lamppost bed stood untouched, its sheets still tucked in with a precision that defied years of abandonment. The empty wardrobes gleamed, their polished wooden doors reflecting the golden afternoon light.

Disappointment curled in my gut. I had come here searching for something a letter, a sign, anything but this room held only silence.

With a sigh, I sank into a bamboo chair, rubbing my temples.

And then

Creaaak.

I stiffened.

A faint, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the room. My breath hitched, and for a split second, I was convinced I wasn't alone.

The silence stretched. The air around me felt charged, as though unseen eyes traced my every movement.

I swallowed hard. It's just a mouse, I told myself. Only a mouse.

But my fingers curled into the fabric of my dress, my knuckles turning white.

Beyond the sitting room, a single door remained locked.

A strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck. That door there was something behind it. Something hidden.

I scanned the room, searching for a key. My eyes landed on the side table near the bed. A small drawer was built into its surface.

I reached for it, expecting resistance, but to my surprise, it slid open easily.

Inside, nestled against the wooden compartment, lay a leather-bound journal.

My breath caught.

The cover was worn with age, its edges frayed, the pages tinged with a soft yellow hue. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted up as I ran my fingers over the spine, a scent so familiar, so distinct, it sent a shiver down my spine.

This was it.

Kala Aunt's journal.

The answers I had been searching for secrets buried in ink and time.

With trembling hands, I opened it. The first few pages were blank, teasing me with their silence. But then, the elegant strokes of Modi script danced across the parchment.

A thrill ran through me.

For the love of history, I had learned Modi script.

And now, history was whispering back to me.

I clutched the journal close and slipped out of the room.

I would read it.

And I would learn the truth.