Mathur nodded slowly. “So history is neither river nor lattice.”
On the second night, Mathur said, “We’re going to die here.”
Jain looked at it, then added her own marks: The fall of Ur, the Sea Peoples’ invasion, the Bronze Age collapse, the 1177 BCE “year the world ended.”
Outside, the university bells rang four. The maps rustled gently. And somewhere, across time, a Greek phalanx braced against an Indian elephant, while a Japanese carrier turned into the wind—unaware that decades later, two scholars in a dusty room would borrow their echoes to argue about whether anyone ever learns anything at all.
Mathur laughed bitterly. “You’re using statistics as prophecy.”
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