Sia blinked her eyes open, a feeling of disorientation sweeping over her. The air felt thick, heavy, with a strange kind of mustiness that reminded her of old, forgotten things. As her senses adjusted, she slowly sat up, glancing around the room. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. The walls were painted in faded pastel colors, the furniture was bulky and outdated, and the curtains were of a fabric that seemed to belong in another era. The room looked like something out of a 90s sitcom, but the decor felt even older than that. A wave of unease washed over her.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice pierced through the silence. "Sangeeta, breakfast is ready. Come downstairs."

Sia froze. Sangeeta? Who was that? She didn't respond, her mind racing to make sense of the situation. The voice, belonging to a man she couldn't quite place, faded as the footsteps moved away. Still unsure of what was happening, she softly mumbled, "Yes," not knowing what else to do.

The voice disappeared, and Sia's gaze wandered back to the room. It felt like she was in a stranger's home, in a place where everything was just... wrong. She scanned the room in silence, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The walls, the heavy curtains, the old wooden dresser—it was all so unfamiliar.

Her eyes landed on something near the mirror on the wall. A family photograph, worn at the edges, sat on the dresser. Her fingers instinctively reached for it, curiosity gnawing at her. As she held the photo, her heart skipped a beat. The picture showed a family of four: a woman, a man, and two younger individuals. She quickly scanned the faces, but confusion clouded her mind. The woman looked like her mother, but there was something off about the image. The man beside her—he must be Sangeeta's father. But then her eyes fell on the two young people in the photo.

One of them was a young man, slightly older, and the other... was her. But it wasn't her. It was a younger version of herself, standing in the photo with Sangeeta's parents and her brother.

Sia's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the photo, her fingers trembling around the edges. It couldn't be. She wasn't in the past. This wasn't her life. But there she was, in a photograph from a different time, as a part of Sangeeta's family.

Suddenly, something caught her eye. She turned toward the mirror, her heart racing, and saw the woman staring back at her—her own reflection, but dressed in clothes she didn't recognize. The shock hit her like a wave as she realized: she wasn't herself. She wasn't Sia. She was Sangeeta.

The world around her seemed to blur as the full weight of the situation crashed down on her. She wasn't just in the past; she had somehow become someone else, living a life she didn't understand.

Sia—no, Sangeeta—stared at her reflection, struggling to make sense of what was happening. How had she ended up here? How had she become someone else in this strange version of reality?

Her heart pounded as the world around her felt more alien with every passing second. She was no longer the daughter trying to rewrite her mother's fate. She was now the best friend, a person she had never thought she'd be. And she had no idea how to navigate this new, frightening reality.

Sia, still in the role of Sangeeta, moved slowly to get dressed. The unfamiliar clothes felt strange against her skin, but she followed the motions of the morning as if it were second nature. As she finished, she walked toward the door, still unsure of what was happening, and made her way downstairs.

The house was grand, much more so than she had expected. The walls were lined with expensive artwork, and the floors gleamed with polished wood. The furniture was elegant, the kind of luxury she had only seen in magazines or in the homes of the very rich. The entire house exuded an air of wealth and refinement. It was a world far removed from her own—yet here she was, a part of it, living in the life of someone else.

As she stepped into the dining room, the warmth of the family breakfast filled the air. The table was set with silverware, fine china, and an array of breakfast dishes. Sangeeta's father, a well-groomed man with a commanding presence, looked up from his newspaper and smiled at her, his expression soft and genuine.

"Sangeeta, how are you feeling today? You look well," he said, his voice filled with a warmth Sia had never experienced from her own father. His concern, his care—it was so foreign to her, yet comforting in a way she couldn't fully grasp.

Sia felt her heart twist as she took her seat at the table. For the first time in her life, she was receiving the kind of love and care from a father she had always longed for. It was as if everything she had missed, everything she had wanted but never gotten, was being offered to someone else—someone who wasn't even her. She felt a lump rise in her throat, but she quickly pushed it down.

Her mother, sitting across from her, smiled softly. "Sangeeta, did you sleep well? You seem rested," she said, her voice gentle, her eyes full of concern.

Sia nodded, though the words felt strange coming out of her mouth. "Yes, I'm fine," she answered, her voice sounding like Sangeeta's, though the thoughts in her head were all her own.

And then, there was her brother—standing by the counter, preparing his own breakfast. He shot her a playful smile. "Don't be late for college today, Sangeeta," he teased, but there was an undertone of care in his voice. "Dad would get after you."

Sia, still in shock, smiled faintly, nodding at the care they were all offering her. She could feel the weight of the moment, of this family, and how different it was from the life she knew.

Her eyes caught a calendar hanging on the wall just above the kitchen counter. The date was circled with a red pen: August 15, 1998. Sia's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened. The year was 1998. The same year that Sangeeta had died.

A flood of memories rushed into her mind—her mom talk about Sangeeta's funeral, the grief that had consumed her family, the sorrow that had taken over the household. The tragic death that had defined this timeline, this family's fate. But Sia, in this moment, realized with a jolt of fear and wonder that Sangeeta was still alive. She hadn't died, not yet, not in this timeline. She had changed everything by coming here.

Her mind raced with the implications. She was here in 1998, standing in a house filled with love, surrounded by a family who cared for her, and she had the power to rewrite the course of events. But she was still struggling to understand how she could change this tragic fate, how she could keep Sangeeta alive and somehow ensure that this family's future wasn't marked by loss.

She tried to steady her breath, the realization of her role sinking in deeper. She had a year to make things right. To change everything.

But first, she had to navigate this life—Sangeeta's life—and find a way to ensure that the tragedy would not happen. Not this time. She wouldn't let it.

GIVE YOUR FEEDBACK..