Chapter 2 Echoes From The Deep

The journal trembled in Aanya's hands as if it, too, had waited years to be opened. Her fingers traced the faded edges of the cover, and she could feel the salt embedded in its seams-the kind that could only come from the open sea. She took a breath, heavy with memory, and turned the first page.

The handwriting was unmistakably a woman's: strong, elegant strokes, yet hurried in places as though the writer had been racing against time.

> March 2nd -

The waves spoke again last night. Not in words, but in dreams. I saw a girl with my eyes, but not my face. She stood by the shore, her hands glowing blue like the moonlit tide. She will come. I must leave her something more than silence.

Aanya blinked, unsure if the page was meant for her. But the feeling in her chest-a twisting ache of recognition-told her it was. She flipped through more pages, eyes darting over sketches of tide pools, constellations, and symbols she didn't understand. The journal didn't just record memories; it held secrets, messages, maybe even prophecies.

"What does all this mean?" she whispered.

Her grandmother, seated quietly across the room with a cup of tea, looked up. "It means your mother was more than what people believed. And so are you."

Aanya stared. "You knew about all this?"

"I knew some. Your mother never told me everything. She believed it was safer that way. Safer for you."

Aanya sat down, journal still open. "Safer from what?"The older woman sighed and glanced toward the sea through the open window. "There are things in this world we don't fully understand, Aanya. Forces older than any book, older than even our stories. Your mother... she had a gift. And it scared some people."

Aanya frowned. "What kind of gift?"

Her grandmother's voice lowered. "She could hear the ocean's voice. Not just the sound of the waves, but its language. Its memory. Some say the ocean remembers everything-every shipwreck, every whisper, every soul it has ever claimed."

Aanya shivered.

"And some people," her grandmother continued, "are born with the ability to hear it. Feel it. Speak back to it. Your mother was one of them. I believe you might be too."

It felt impossible, like a story from one of the old myth books Aanya used to read. Yet, here she was-holding her mother's words in her hands, sitting in a cottage that had weathered a hundred storms, and feeling something stir inside her every time she looked at the sea.

"But why now?" Aanya asked. "Why would she write all this for me to find years later?"

"Because the ocean isn't done with our family," her grandmother said simply. "And neither are the answers."

Later that afternoon, unable to stay inside any longer, Aanya wandered back to the shore. The journal stayed tucked under her arm. Each step on the sand felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of her mother's secrets pressed against her chest.She reached the edge of the water. The waves curled around her ankles, warm and oddly calming. She closed her eyes and listened.

It was more than sound.

There was a rhythm, a pulse beneath the surface. Not just the crash and retreat of waves, but something deeper. Something ancient. It was like the sea was breathing-and within its breath, a voice.

"Aanya..."

Her eyes flew open. No one was there.

She spun around. The beach was empty, save for the gulls circling above. The wind stirred her hair, but the voice was gone. Had she imagined it?

She took a shaky breath and knelt by the water. "If you're really out there," she murmured, "if you knew my mother... show me."As if answering, a small wave rolled forward and deposited something at her feet-a stone, smooth and black, shaped like a teardrop. She picked it up. It was warm in her hand and shimmered faintly under the sun.

Startled, Aanya turned and ran back to the cottage.

Her grandmother examined the stone with wide eyes. "Obsidian," she murmured. "But not just any. This is sea-obsidian. Extremely rare. Said to come from underwater volcanoes that only erupt once in a lifetime."

Aanya looked at her. "What does it mean?"

The old woman hesitated. "It means the ocean is answering you."

That night, Aanya couldn't sleep. The journal lay open beside her on the bed, and the obsidian stone rested on her nightstand, glowing faintly like a lighthouse beacon.

Outside, a storm was brewing.

The wind picked up, howling through the palm trees, and thunder rumbled in the distance. But Aanya wasn't afraid. She felt drawn to the storm-as if it were part of whatever was awakening inside her.

Suddenly, lightning flashed and for a brief moment illuminated something on the beach. A figure.

Heart pounding, Aanya grabbed her shawl and hurried outside. The rain stung her skin, and the wind tore through her hair, but she kept moving, drawn toward the shadowy form near the shore.

When she got closer, the figure became clearer. A man-tall, cloaked in something that shimmered like fish scales. His face was hidden by a hood, but he stood facing the sea, hands at his sides.

"Who are you?" Aanya shouted over the storm.

The figure turned, slowly, as if he'd been expecting her.

"The tide has returned," he said.

Then he vanished-melted into the storm like mist.

Aanya froze. Her feet were sinking into the wet sand, the rain soaking through her clothes. She looked around frantically, but the man was gone.

Only the sea remained-roaring, alive, and undeniably calling to her.

As she turned to run back to the cottage, a wave crashed near her, harder than any before. Something shot up from the water, landing at her feet.

A shell-silver, spiraled, and humming softly like a heartbeat.

She picked it up and held it to her ear.

> "Find the lighthouse. Your mother's journey began there... and yours will end if you don't."

Aanya stumbled backward, her heart thudding wildly. She didn't understand the words completely, but she knew one thing: this was just the beginning.........