***A Chance Encounter***
The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Isabella's bedroom, casting delicate patterns across the floor. She sighed, running her fingers over the spine of her well-worn book—*The Lady's Guide to Propriety and Decorum*. The title alone made her want to fling it across the room.
"Another day, another set of rules," she muttered, tossing it onto her bed.
Outside, the world was waking up—birds chirped, carriages rattled down the cobblestone streets, and the distant hum of the city promised something more than the stifling expectations of her family. Isabella pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, imagining herself anywhere but here.
A sharp knock at her door startled her.
"Isabella!" Her mother's voice was crisp, impatient. "You're expected at Lady Winthrop's tea by noon. Do not be late."
Isabella bit back a groan. "Yes, Mother."
The footsteps retreated, and she exhaled, tugging at the tight corset beneath her dress. *Why must everything be so suffocating?*
She slipped out of her room, tiptoeing past the portraits of stern ancestors who seemed to judge her every move. The grand staircase loomed before her, but instead of descending, she turned toward the servants' passage—a shortcut to the garden, her only refuge.
The garden was alive with color, the roses in full bloom, their scent thick in the air. Isabella kicked off her shoes, relishing the feel of damp grass beneath her feet. Here, she could breathe. Here, she could pretend, just for a moment, that she wasn't bound by society's endless rules.
A rustling in the hedges made her freeze.
"Who's there?" she called, heart pounding.
A figure stepped out from behind the foliage—tall, dressed in clothes that seemed oddly out of place, his dark hair tousled as if he'd been running. His eyes locked onto hers, and something in them made her breath catch.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice low, almost amused.
Isabella crossed her arms. "This is *my* garden. *You're* the one trespassing."
The stranger smirked. "Fair point."
She studied him—his sharp jawline, the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing faint scars. He wasn't like the polished gentlemen who frequented her mother's parties. There was something wild about him, something untamed.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Aramniya." He said it like it was a secret, like the name itself held weight.
Isabella frowned. "That's not a name I've heard before."
"It's not from around here." He took a step closer, and she resisted the urge to back away. "You're Isabella, aren't you?"
Her pulse spiked. "How do you know my name?"
Aramniya's smile was knowing. "I've been watching you."
She should have been alarmed. She should have screamed for the footmen. But instead, curiosity burned in her chest. "Why?"
"Because you're different." His gaze flickered to the discarded book on the garden bench—the one she'd thrown earlier. "You don't belong in this world of rules and expectations."
Isabella's throat tightened. No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever *seen* her that way.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
Aramniya reached into his coat and pulled out a small, ornate pocket watch. It gleamed in the sunlight, its surface etched with strange symbols. "I want to show you what's beyond all this."
She hesitated. This was madness. She didn't even know him. And yet…
"How?"
He held out his hand. "Trust me."
Isabella stared at his outstretched fingers. Every instinct told her to run. But something deeper, something she couldn't name, urged her forward.
She took his hand.
The world blurred. The garden, the manor, the city—all of it melted away in a swirl of color and light. Isabella gasped, clutching Aramniya's arm as the ground vanished beneath her feet.
And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
She stumbled, her knees buckling, but Aramniya steadied her. "Easy."
Isabella blinked, her vision clearing. They stood in a place unlike anything she'd ever seen—towering buildings of glass and steel stretched into the sky, strange carriages moved without horses, and people dressed in bizarre clothing hurried past without a second glance.
"Where—?" Her voice cracked.
"The future," Aramniya said simply.
Isabella's heart hammered. This was impossible. And yet… the proof was all around her.
"Why did you bring me here?"
Aramniya's expression softened. "Because you deserve to know there's more to life than what they've told you." He gestured to the bustling street. "This is a world without the rules that suffocate you. A world where you can be free."
Isabella turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The noise, the chaos, the sheer *life* of it all—it was overwhelming. And exhilarating.
But then a thought struck her. "What about my family? My life?"
Aramniya's smile faded. "Time works differently here. You could stay for days, and only minutes would pass back home."
She swallowed hard. The offer was tempting. Too tempting.
A shout echoed down the street. A group of men in uniform were pushing through the crowd, their eyes scanning faces. Aramniya stiffened.
"We need to go," he said urgently.
Isabella didn't have time to ask why. He grabbed her hand again, and the world dissolved once more.
When they reappeared, they were back in the garden—but something was wrong. The roses were wilted, the grass overgrown. The manor's windows were dark, as if abandoned.
"What happened?" Isabella whispered.
Aramniya's grip tightened. "I miscalculated."
A cold dread settled in her stomach. "How long were we gone?"
He didn't answer.
Isabella pulled away, running toward the house. The door creaked open under her touch, revealing dust-covered furniture and cobwebbed chandeliers.
Her home was empty.
She turned to Aramniya, her voice trembling. "What did you do?"
His face was unreadable. "I'll fix this. I promise."
But the doubt in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
And she had no idea how to make it right.