Ankit sat quietly after his evening meditation, the questions circling as usual. "Why did I return? What did that phrase mean? Whose voice was it?" he murmured to himself.
"Can anybody answer me?" He waited, half-expecting the silence to break.
Nothing came, same as always. He shrugged it off. "I'll ask again tomorrow," he told himself, turning to close his phone.
Then, clear as a thought but deeper, a voice stirred inside—not from the room, but from somewhere within him. "North, small mountain, abandoned hut."
Ankit froze, heart picking up. Shocked at first, then a spark of excitement hit. Finally, something more than riddles. He wondered what the hut held—a clue to his time travel? Some answer?
He pushed open his window and scanned north. Hills rolled into bigger mountains under the fading light, dotted with scrub and rocks. He itched to go right then, but at 12, he couldn't head out alone. Better wait for his father.
Kamal got home late from work. Ankit met him in the living room, phone map pulled up. "Dad, I need to go here north. It's important."
His father glanced over, eyebrow raised. "Important reason, or just bored of the house?" he teased, then sobered. "What's it about?"
"I don't know exactly," Ankit admitted, sighing. "Just trust me. Please."
Kamal rubbed his chin. "I've trusted you plenty already. Why not this time? Tomorrow morning, not now."
Ankit nodded, barely sleeping that night.Early next day, they drove north, the city giving way to winding roads and open land. Three hours later, they parked near a stretch of low mountains.
Ankit hopped out, eyes scanning for anything matching the voice's words—a small peak with a hut.
The range sprawled wider than it looked. They hiked trails, checked ridges, but found nothing after an hour. Sweaty and tired, they asked locals and a few tourists at a roadside stall.
One old man pointed them farther in: "There's an old shack up that slope, been empty for years."
Ankit led the way up the final stretch. A hundred meters out, signs of people faded—no footprints, just animal tracks in the dirt. The hut sat weathered and small, roof sagging, walls cracked from neglect.
He stared, searching for anything off—a mark, glow, hidden door. Nothing. "Dad, you see anything special here?"
Kamal leaned on a rock behind him, wiping sweat. "Special? You've dragged us out here chasing who-knows-what. It's just some rundown shack. What were you even hoping for?"
"Sorry," Ankit said, glancing back. "You really don't see anything?"
His father shook his head, irritated but patient. "No. Come on, let's look inside and head back."
Ankit followed as Kamal shoved the rusty door open. Dust swirled in the empty space—bare dirt floor, no furniture, no scraps of life. They poked around corners, lifted loose boards. Nothing.
"What are we even after?" Kamal asked, voice echoing slightly.
"Don't know," Ankit muttered. They slumped against a wall to rest. "Enough wandering," Kamal said as shadows lengthened. "Evening's coming. Home time."
Ankit nodded but lingered, reluctant. Then the voice returned, inner and calm: "Meditate and feel your surroundings."
He blinked, surprised, but sat cross-legged on the floor like at home—eyes closed, breaths steady, pushing game stress aside.
"What now?" Kamal grumbled. "Let's go!"
"Dad, wait. This is important," Ankit said, not opening his eyes.
He tuned in deeper, senses sharpening. At first, doubt crept in—was the voice messing with him? But then, faint yellow specks appeared in his mind's eye, like glowing pixels hovering in the air, bright against the dark.
He opened his eyes. Nothing—just his father watching, arms crossed, the dim hut as empty as before.