CHAPTER 2 - BETWEEN THE MOONS

A loud noise shattered my sleep.

I gasped and opened my eyes, my head throbbing painfully. Blurred shapes slowly turned into faces—people standing around me in a circle, whispering among themselves. Panic rushed through me like cold water. I tried to sit up, but dizziness hit me hard.

“What… what happened?” I whispered.

I looked at each face desperately, hoping to find someone familiar—my family, my brother, anyone. But every face was a stranger.

Fear clenched my chest.

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“You’re in Chandigarh,” a man replied gently.

“I know that,” I said quickly, confused and scared. “But why am I lying on the street? Where is my family?”

The people exchanged worried glances. I could see it in their eyes—they thought I had lost my memory.

“We found you lying here unconscious,” one of them said. “We tried to wake you up, but you didn’t respond. We don’t know who you are.”

I slowly stood up, my legs weak.

And then… everything felt wrong.

The buildings looked old—too old. The streets had a vintage feel. People were wearing clothes I had only seen in old photographs. There were no smartphones, no bright shop lights, no noise of modern traffic. Even the cars looked ancient.

My heart started pounding.

No… this can’t be real.

For one terrifying moment, a thought crossed my mind.

Am I… in the 90s?

I immediately shook my head.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered to myself. “Time travel isn’t real.”

Trying to calm myself, I began walking. My feet carried me forward without direction—until I stopped dead in my tracks.

The Sector 23 Gurudwara stood before me.

I had been here so many times in my life… yet it looked completely different. Old. Untouched. As if time had forgotten this place. No renovations. No modern structure.

My confusion turned into fear.

I walked further, toward the market—and my heart sank. The area that should have been crowded and developed was barely there. Small shops. Faded signboards. Old movie posters stuck to the walls.

My hands trembled.

“This isn’t possible,” I whispered.

I pinched my arm. Hard.

Nothing changed.

I slapped my cheek. The sting burned—but the world remained the same.

This wasn’t a dream.

With shaking hands, I approached a few people and asked the question I was afraid of.

“What… what’s today’s date?”

“20th July, 1995,” they replied casually.

My breath caught.

“No,” I said quickly. “The year. Tell me the year again.”

“1995.”

I asked again. And again.

Every answer was the same.

My knees felt weak.

Hungry. Lost. Alone. Terrified.

Then suddenly, a memory surfaced—my family once lived in Sector 23, long before moving to Dhanas. My grandfather had a government job back then.

Hope flickered faintly inside me.

With no money, no identity, and nowhere else to go, I started walking toward what I hoped was home.

By the time it was around 10 p.m., darkness swallowed the streets. Streetlights barely worked. Every shadow felt threatening.

I heard footsteps behind me.

My heart skipped.

I turned slightly—and froze.

A group of drunk men were following me.

I quickened my pace. They did too.

Panic took over.

They surrounded me before I could run. My breath came out in short gasps. One of them stepped closer, his hand reaching toward me—

And then—

A loud thud echoed.

The man stumbled back as a hard punch landed on his face.

Everything happened so fast.

A young man appeared out of nowhere, fighting them with fierce strength. His movements were sharp, fearless. Within moments, the men ran away, cursing in fear.

I stood there, frozen, trembling.

He stepped in front of me, his broad back shielding me from the darkness.

Then he turned around.

His eyes—strong yet gentle—met mine.

“Are you okay, miss?”

And in that moment…

I didn’t know why—but for the first time since waking up, I felt safe.

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