Hello Alex E-Book

Annamaria Marta Furedi

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 125

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Time bends. History shifts. An accidental jump in time could rewrite the fate of an empire.

Hello Alex is a reflective time-travel novella that intertwines historical fiction with philosophical inquiry. At its heart lies a simple yet powerful premise: what happens when a modern-day archaeology student is transported eight hundred years into the past—right before a historical catastrophe she knows all too well?

Set against the backdrop of the Byzantine Empire’s decline and the Fourth Crusade, the story unfolds through the perspective of Anita, a young German student. Her accidental journey through time leads her to Alexios Angelos, a prince often vilified or misunderstood in historical accounts. As she cautiously attempts to influence events without disrupting the fragile fabric of time, the narrative raises urgent questions about history, responsibility, and silence.

Unlock this spellbinding journey through time today!

Leseprobe

HELLO ALEX

short story by

Annamaria Marta Furedi

It was a late January winter day in Tuebingen, with the sun shining brightly, illuminating the front corner of the modern classroom by the teacher’s desk. Professor Dr. Martin B. Hausen was giving his usual lecture, now focused on the upcoming end-of-February topic exam. He looked to be in his early forties, in excellent shape, clearly taking care of his health. He exercised regularly and tried to follow a sugar-free diet. Though already an emeritus professor, he frequently gave lectures at renowned universities and had even been invited to appear on television a few times as an expert. Today, however, he seemed more absent-minded than usual, Anita noted to herself. Perhaps, in his thoughts, he was already at the ski resort where he and his wife planned to spend their usual winter holiday starting next week.

He had assigned three chapters for the topic exam, all on Byzantine history. This was Anita’s least favorite subject. Her chosen area was the life and administration of the medieval Italian provinces, alongside classical archaeology. She was writing her thesis on this, and most of it was already done. Of course, she still had to be familiar with the Byzantine part—there was no escaping it. The many oddly named emperors and generals who often attacked each other, their campaigns stretching in all directions—none of these stories appealed to her. But if she had to learn them, then so be it.

She had lunch at the nearby cafeteria with her friend Betti, who had been her roommate in the dorm for three years. Betti was a tall, blonde basketball player, studying classical archaeology. They had gone on a few trips together. Why wasn’t Anita living in the dorm this year? Primarily because the dormitory residence criteria had become stricter. There were so many applicants now that they could afford to be selective. As a result, prices had also gone up, and a dorm room was now almost as expensive as a mid-range rental. So why not rent an apartment instead? After all, it gave her much more freedom. No need to comply with so many house rules—no one telling her when to come and go.

After her afternoon classes, she headed home right away—she felt tired. On the train, she quickly flipped through her Greek notes and edited the list on her phone of sources she still needed to review for the exam. She used an app to organize them—a neat little database. She was proud of how seriously she took it all. She had always tried to keep things in order around her. I take after Dad in that, she would often say. She had inherited her lovely reddish-brown hair and medium blue eyes from him too.

Her parents lived in Hamburg, though her mother was originally from the Stuttgart area—they had only moved north after getting married. Anita had always wanted to study archaeology. Since she was a child, she had been fascinated by history, by the events of long ago, and by the everyday lives of people who lived in the past. Working as an expert on excavations seemed like a dream job to her. Choosing Tuebingen had felt like the most natural decision, since her grandparents lived not far from there. Her rented flat was in Nuertingen, a town near the city, on the ground floor of an old house, and it took her about half an hour by train to get to the university. No problem, that's manageable, she had shrugged when she rented the place. And she didn’t need to go in every day anyway—some of the lectures were still held online, a leftover from the COVID era.

The owner of the house lived in the opposite part of the building—an elderly couple. When Anita got home, the elderly lady, whom everyone called Aunt Suzanne, was just ushering the cat inside for the night. It was close to half past eight. The cat, a gray tabby, had been given the name Bandit—though, of course, he never responded to it. Anita greeted her neighbor, who smiled and nodded as she scooped the cat up in her arms. She lured him in with cat food; otherwise, His Feline Majesty would gladly roam the streets all night.

Stepping into her small apartment, Anita finally dropped her bag and all the stuff she’d been lugging around. I really should do some shopping, she thought automatically as her eyes flicked toward the kitchenette. Eh, whatever. Tomorrow. Worst case, she’d just order from one of the big supermarkets with delivery. Even if she wasn’t home, the neighbor usually took it in for her—no big deal.

She’d planned to read the first chapter of one of the exam books—still four weeks away—but felt far too worn out. Better in the morning, with a fresh brain, she thought. She usually wore her hair braided, but tonight she didn’t even feel like brushing it out. Morning job, she yawned. She took a quick shower and slipped straight into bed. She scrolled through her phone for maybe ten minutes—didn’t even feel like playing anything. She put it away in a little pouch bag under her pillow. The room was dark, the shutters blocked the light well, and being a small town, the night was wrapped in silence. Anita drifted into deep sleep.

She woke early the next morning—just around dawn, judging by the dim light filtering in. A smoky scent hit her nose. As she shifted slightly under the covers, a strange feeling crept over her. Something was not right. She ran her hand across the blanket. This isn’t the same one I had last night! It felt rougher, and it smelled different, too. She sat up and pulled her dressing gown—usually tucked behind her pillow—over her pajamas. Okay, let’s see what’s going on, she thought and got out of bed.

Her slippers were gone. And instead of the polished parquet flooring, she was now standing on wooden planks. The rugs were missing too. Well, this is… Good thing she was wearing thick winter socks. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, so she walked curiously to the window. And the window—wasn’t the same. No plastic blinds. Shutters. Real wooden shutters. What the…? I must still be dreaming…

She headed for the door, but instead of a regular handle, there was this strange metal latch mechanism. Okay... she thought, brushing aside the surprise, and opened it anyway. The whole old house looked different. The door across the entry area was still there, sure—but the doormats were gone, no sign of the cat house, and the lighting was just gone, too. She peeked outside. No two-lane road, no sidewalk. In their place, a dirt track, thick with mud where it wasn’t hidden under a layer of snow. Across the street stood just a couple of houses, and even those looked oddly old-fashioned. She spotted an elderly man and a small child walking away from her, both dressed in what looked like some sort of folk costume. She stared after them, frozen. What the hell happened? How could everything change overnight? Is this a movie set? A medieval festival? A joke? A prank? But how—? And how did I get here?

Panic rushed through her. I need to figure out what’s going on, she thought, pinching her arm hard, hoping to wake up from this bizarre dream. But nothing changed. Ignoring the cold, she sat down on the doorstep. She had no clue what to do. Who do you even call in a situation like this? Oh—the phone! She dashed back inside. Thank God, it was still there. No signal, though. Of course. And no outlets in the room either. Maybe there’s no electricity at all. Great.

Well, at least I’ve got my solar charger with me, she reminded herself. If I can keep the phone powered, I’m not completely helpless. Small win. She let out a sigh.

Then, through the half-open door, she heard a rustling sound. She peeked out carefully. A thin old woman was standing there, staring right back at her. They both widened their eyes in surprise. The woman, too, was dressed in one of those strange old-timey outfits. Anita greeted her. The woman mumbled something in return—barely understandable. What language am I even supposed to use?

“Morga?” the old woman asked.

Morga. The word rang a bell. Swabian, Anita suddenly remembered! Her grandmother used to speak it—she only knew a little, but still.

“Guada morga?” Anita replied cautiously. The woman smiled.

“Morga,” she nodded.

That’s it. Swabian. Okay, I can work with this, Anita thought, breathing deeply. Bit by bit, they managed to get a conversation going. It seemed the woman lived in the opposite wing of the house. She invited Anita in and even gave her breakfast. She took a long look at the necklace Anita was wearing—a small silver pendant made of tiny flowers, no bigger than a one-euro coin. The woman had delicious fresh bread and sliced some bacon to go with it. She also served an interesting kind of fried egg. For someone who’d just met a stranger in nightwear, the old lady turned out to be surprisingly chatty.

From her, Anita learned the name of the place they were in—it sounded a little different from what she was used to: Niuritingin. An old-fashioned name. A flicker of suspicion crept into her mind. No, it can’t be… She pushed the unsettling thought aside. Carefully, she asked,

“What year is it?”

The woman looked at her, a bit puzzled. Hmm, maybe I need to phrase it differently.

“Is there a king?”

The woman gave her a slightly pitying look, but answered anyway.

“Sure there is.”

Oh no. It really was what she feared. This is another time. Another era. Dear God.

Trying to stay calm, Anita asked the next, critical question.

“And… what’s the king’s name?”

“Well now, that’s a funny thing to ask,” the old woman muttered, shaking her head. “It’s Filip.”

“Filip,” Anita repeated, eyes wide.

Philip, she echoed automatically in her head. She mentally ran through the list of German kings: Henry, Ferdinand, Otto, Conrad, Alfonso… Only one Philip came to mind: Philip of Swabia. But no—no way. He lived around the turn of the 13th century!

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She had to check her notes. Immediately. While she sat there lost in thought, the woman cleared the breakfast dishes. When she finished, she stopped and stood in front of Anita. Snapping out of her daze, Anita looked up at her.

“You’re one of those odd ones again, aren’t you?” the old woman said, squinting.

Anita had no idea how to respond to that.

“Do you have any proper clothes, darling?” the woman added, eyeing her dressing gown and the cat-print pajamas peeking out from underneath.

“Oh! Right. I don’t. You’re absolutely right.”

Anita blushed. The woman seemed to understand and shuffled off into a small side room. She opened a big wooden chest and started rummaging through it. While she was occupied, Anita slipped back into her own room. One of her notebooks had made it here with her, and luckily, she’d saved a bunch of documents on her phone too. Good thing I didn’t delete everything after backing it up to the cloud, she thought, flipping through her notes.

Nothing about this era in the notebook. So she dove into the saved files on her phone. It has to be here somewhere, she muttered. At the start of the year, Johann—one of her classmates—had sent her a super detailed timeline. There it is! She managed to open it and scrolled to the right time period. Got it: Philip of Swabia. Born 1177. Died June 8, 1208. Whoa. Jesus. Still, if she could figure out the exact year within that range, that would help a lot. But how do I do that?

Let’s see… In May 1197, Philip got married—to Irene, daughter of the Byzantine emperor Isaac II (Isakyos). The old lady would definitely know if the king was married at all. That could work! Even though the panic of landing in an entirely different era hadn’t eased, she felt a flicker of hope.

When she looked up from her phone, she heard the woman’s voice again. She had returned—with a pair of boots, thick wool stockings, and a dress. It looked very much like a traditional folk costume. Anita gratefully took them and started getting dressed. As the woman helped her with the layers, Anita asked her carefully:

“Is the king married? Does he have a wife?”

The woman seemed pleased to have someone to chat with and answered right away.

“Oh yes, he does. They say he’s got three little girls already. One of his castles isn’t far from here.”

“Have you… ever met him?” Anita asked.

“Oh, heavens no,” the old lady laughed. “But I saw him ride by with his soldiers on the lower road last year, when I was gathering walnuts.”

“He has three daughters?”

“Three, yes.”

“That’s really helpful, thank you!” Anita said, smiling as the woman finished adjusting her dress. “What should I call you?”

“My name’s Grimda, dear. And yours?”

“Anita.”

“You come from a faraway land, don’t you?”

“Well, yes… Yes, I do. Quite far away.”

A dog barked outside, and Grimda rushed out. Anita heard her talking to a man—loudly. It sounded like they were arguing about something, but she couldn’t make out the words. She turned back to her phone and kept scrolling through the timeline. Philip’s daughters: Beatrix (April/June 1198), Maria (1199/1200), Kunigunde (February 1202). Their fourth daughter, Elisabeth, was born in 1205. So we’re probably somewhere between 1202 and 1205. Unless they had a child who died young and never made it into the records.

I need to tie this to some event, she thought, frustrated. Too bad this timeline isn’t more detailed. She considered asking if the Crusaders had taken Constantinople yet—that happened April 12, 1204—but this place was far from the city, and Grimda might not even know. Then she spotted a footnote: September 17, 1204 – Hermann of Thuringia submitted to King Philip. When she heard Grimda moving around again next door, Anita crossed over and tried her luck.

“Grimda, do you know if Hermann of Thuringia has already submitted to King Philip? Have you heard anything about that?”

“Oh, that? I wouldn’t know about such things,” the old woman replied, looking puzzled.

Ah, Anita sighed—but she wasn’t ready to give up.

“What about the Marquis of Montferrat? Boniface?”

“Oh, the lord marquis, yes, he passed through here last summer. I think he’s kin to the king. But Katrin and Fritzi, now they’d know more about such things.”

Wait a second… Anita thought. So the marquis was here last summer? That’s actually useful. She hurried back to her room to double-check the timeline. Boniface joined the Crusaders in Venice in August 1202. By summer 1203, he was already traveling with the army across the Mediterranean. But in 1201, the expedition was still being organized—he was appointed leader in Soissons that year. Okay—this narrows it down pretty well.

Before she could think of anything else, Grimda appeared in the doorway and waved for her to come. Anita pulled on the little coat she’d been given and wrapped herself in a large black shawl she’d found in one corner of the room.