Once everyone had finished breakfast, Sumendu's aunt and uncle set about their respective tasks for the day and soon planned to leave. It was late in the morning when Dia entered Sumendu's room. He was sitting by the window, lost in thought, gazing out at the quiet world beyond. Dia, though only a year older than him, carried a maturity well beyond her age. Yet beneath that calm grace lived the same mischievous spirit that had often found joy in teasing him—though not today.
As she approached, she gently placed her palm on his shoulder and came to stand beside him. She was an inch taller, her presence quietly commanding. Her round face and large, doe-like eyes held a softness that lingered as she looked at him—eyes that, for a moment, revealed something deeper. But as Sumendu turned toward her, she quickly brushed away the thought that had crossed her mind and, with a teasing lilt in her voice, said,
"So, my dear cousin, what's troubling you? You've been lost in your own world since morning.
Without a second thought Sumendu blurted, "Come — let me show you," grabbed her hand, and led her to the cupboard where he had hidden the dart game he'd found in the attic. He carefully pulled the board out: one dart was already lodged dead center; five others lay beside it. He set the board down, the single dart piercing the bull's-eye like a quiet accusation.
Dia stared at him, astonished. She stood so close that both her hands rose in a questioning gesture, as if to ask what on earth he was getting at. Sumendu began arranging the remaining darts; as he did, he seemed to read the thought behind her eyes. Before she could speak, he did — and what he said made Dia's face change from incredulous to incredulous-laughing.
"Sumendu, are you out of your mind?" she burst out. "Are you saying this board game literally takes you into the past? What rubbish. I don't believe a single word of it — that these darts transport you into your past, or that you were a soldier under attack. Seriously?"
Sumendu ignored her laughter and pointed to the fresh wound on his head. "Isn't that from the fall yesterday?" she asked, skeptical. "You told my dad about that."
"No," Sumendu said. "I didn't want to make a fuss. I wanted to speak to you first — I knew he'd never believe me."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't, either," she admitted.
"But what if I prove it to you tonight?" he pressed. "Come over after your uncle and aunt go to bed. Eleven o'clock. Sharp." The idea of sneaking into Sumendu's room was oddly thrilling, and the story was too strange to ignore. After a beat she smiled, half-amused, half-curious. "Fine. I'll be there at eleven — and you'd better not be asleep, or I'll whack the daylights out of you."