Chapter – 2

Morning sunlight drifted softly across Emily’s bedroom floor, warming her bare feet as she sat on the edge of the bed. The wooden box rested on her lap like an unanswered question. She had barely slept; every creak in the house felt like the box calling her back, whispering secrets she wasn’t prepared to hear.

The carved A on its lid was still faint, but in the early light, it almost glowed.

“Why were you hidden?” she murmured, running her fingertips over the worn grain of the wood.

Downstairs, she heard pans clinking — her mother preparing breakfast. Lily’s voice echoed faintly as she argued with a kettle that refused to whistle at the right moment. Emily smiled. Lily always argued with objects as if they were living beings… maybe in her world, they were.

But the box pulled her back.

She pressed her thumb underneath the metal latch. It resisted, stiff from rust. She tried again, harder. The metal clicked and the lid lifted with a reluctant sigh.

Inside was a bundle of folded papers tied with a thread, a small tarnished locket, and a strip of faded cloth.

Emily’s breath caught.

She gently unfolded the papers. They were letters — handwritten, the ink slightly smudged with time. She picked the first one.

My dearest C—
But the rest was too faint to read.

“C?” Emily whispered. “Could that… be Clara? Mom?”

A soft knock on her door made her jump. She quickly closed the lid.

“Em?” Lily’s voice came through the wood. “Mom says breakfast. And also… she says stop hiding upstairs like a bat.”

Emily blinked. “I’m coming.”

Lily peeked through anyway, pushing the door open with a wide grin. Her curly hair bounced around her shoulders like wild springs. She spotted the box immediately.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Emily said too quickly, lifting it and placing it inside her drawer.

Lily’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Nothing always means something.”

Emily sighed. “Stop reading my mind.”

“Then stop having such readable thoughts,” Lily shot back, sticking her tongue out.

Emily ruffled her sister’s hair as she passed her. Lily yelped. “Hey! Not the hair!”

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of butter and warm bread. Their mother stood by the counter, her brown hair tied in a loose bun, her apron dusted with flour. Her face, gentle and worn, always carried an expression of quiet worry — as if she was constantly waiting for a storm she couldn’t see but always felt.

“Morning,” Clara said, giving Emily a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Emily forced her own smile. “Morning, Mom.”

She sat at the table, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice the tension in her shoulders.

But Clara noticed everything.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You were up late last night.”

“I… had things on my mind.”

Clara set a plate in front of her. “Anything I should know?”

Emily hesitated. The image of the letters flashed in her mind — My dearest C—. The carved letter A. The hidden place beneath the attic floor.

“No,” she said finally. “Just… thinking.”

Clara nodded, though her gaze lingered too long, as if reading between every word.

Lily plopped into her seat dramatically, nearly knocking over her glass. “I’m thinking too, you know. About how to convince you both to let me get a cat.”

Emily almost choked on her tea. “A cat?”

“Yes,” Lily said proudly. “A fluffy one that hates human rules. I’ll name him Sir Whiskers.”

Clara pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ve talked about this—”

“And we will talk again!” Lily declared with great importance.

Emily laughed, grateful for the distraction. The conversation drifted into the usual morning chaos — spilled milk, Lily’s exaggerated stories from school, Clara’s attempts to maintain order. But beneath Emily’s calm smile, the mystery of the box nestled like a quiet tremor in her chest.

Later that afternoon, Emily returned to the attic. Dust particles floated like golden stars in the slanted sunlight. She knelt in the corner where she found the box and examined the floorboards.

There — a loose plank.
Nearly invisible unless one was looking for it.

“Someone wanted you hidden,” she whispered.

She ran her fingers along the edges. The wood felt old — older than she expected. Perhaps it had been placed there years before Emily was even born.

She carefully lifted the floorboard. Nothing else beneath. No markings. No clues.

But her heart wouldn’t settle.

She took out the box again, tucking herself into a corner near the small attic window. Dust smudged the legs of her blue dress, but she didn’t care. She opened the box once more, inspecting each item deeply.

The Locket

It was silver, tarnished, with an intricate pattern on its surface. Emily clicked it open gently. Inside was a tiny photograph — almost too faded to recognize.

A woman.

Young. Soft eyes. A faint smile.

Emily leaned closer.

“She looks like…” she began, but the thought dissolved. The resemblance was vague, uncertain — as if time had blurred the truth.

The Cloth

A small strip of dark-blue fabric with embroidered gold threads. It looked like part of a uniform or something ceremonial.

The Letters

She untied the thread and spread them out. Some pages were nearly blank from age. Others carried only partial sentences.

But one line, on the second letter, was clear:

I fear our families will never accept what we share…

Emily inhaled sharply.
A forbidden relationship?
Someone loving someone they shouldn’t?

Her mind raced.

Who wrote this?
Who was it meant for?
Why was it buried?

She reached for the last letter, the one with the clearest ink. Her eyes widened.

It wasn’t addressed to C.
It wasn’t addressed to anyone.

It simply read:

If this box is ever found, the truth must no longer remain hidden.

Emily felt the air leave her lungs.

A chill passed through her body — not from fear, but from a strange sense of inevitability. As if everything in her life had been slowly, quietly guiding her to this moment.

She closed the box gently.

A faint sound outside the attic window caught her attention — a voice, deep and unfamiliar.

Emily walked to the window and peered down at the street.

A young man stood by the gate of the old house across from hers. Tall, dressed neatly, setting down two suitcases. He lifted his head, as if sensing someone.

Emily froze.

Their eyes met — just for a second.

He looked away first, but not before giving a small, polite nod.

Emily felt her heartbeat quicken.

“Who… is that?”

She didn’t know it yet.

But she had just seen Adrian for the very first time.

The box in her hands suddenly felt heavier — as if it recognized him before she did.