Chapter one:Envelope
291 Words
Mira Sen had always believed that life followed a pattern—quiet mornings, predictable afternoons, and evenings that faded gently into night. She worked at the city archives, a place where dust and paper ruled, where stories lived silently between brittle pages. Mira liked it that way. Stories were safer when they belonged to someone else.
On a Wednesday that began like any other, she found an envelope waiting on her desk.
It was cream-colored, thick, and sealed with a wax stamp she did not recognize. Her name—Mira Sen—was written in careful, old-fashioned handwriting. She turned it over once, then twice, feeling a small knot of unease tighten in her stomach.
No return address.
She told herself it was nothing. Some formal notice, perhaps. The city loved its notices.
But when she broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside, the world tilted.
You are requested to present yourself at the Sen ancestral home in Daripur on Saturday, 10 a.m. Attendance is mandatory.
No explanation. No signature. Just a date that was three days away.
Mira stared at the words until they blurred. The Sen ancestral home had been abandoned for decades. Her parents had moved to the city long before she was born. The house, according to family legend, was old, stubborn, and full of arguments that never quite died.
She folded the letter carefully, slid it back into the envelope, and placed it in her bag. All day, she tried to focus on catalog numbers and fragile manuscripts, but the thought followed her like a shadow.
By the time she left work, she had decided she would go.
Not because she wanted to—but because something in that letter suggested she had no choice.
- Writer
