The memory of the last twelve years crashed into me like a tidal wave—the cobblestone streets of Italy, the frantic energy of New York, the heavy heat of Banaras.

I remembered every detail, every cold look, every unspoken word. But mostly, I remembered *him*.

Mr. Agarwal.

My father.

I had been sitting in my car for an hour, the engine long dead, staring at the entrance of the Agarwal penthouse.

I didn't call Aditya. I couldn't. This was a ghost I had to face alone.

I walked toward the door, my legs feeling like lead.

When it opened, Rudra stood there, his face draining of color.

"Dii," he whispered, his voice trembling.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I pushed past him, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor until I reached the hall.

The first thing I saw was the temple—and inside it, his photo. It was a massive portrait, his eyes staring back at me with that same unyielding sternness.

Then, I saw her.

My mother.

She was a ghost of herself, draped in a plain white saree, her skin sallow and fragile. No jewelry. No sindoor. Nothing. When she finally looked up and saw me, she froze, then let out a broken sob and ran into my arms.

"Kaise ho beta... itna din baad apni mummy ki yaad aayi?" she whispered against my shoulder, her body shaking.

I didn't answer her question. I couldn't pretend. "Maa, how did Papa die?"

The air left her lungs. She looked at me with a terrifying disbelief, as if I’d touched a raw nerve. "I already told you—"

"Mujhe yaad aagaya hai sab," I cut her off, my voice cold and hollow.

Her eyes turned bloodshot in an instant. She gripped me tighter, sobbing into my chest, breaking me into a million pieces. But I couldn't stay. I pulled away and ran toward his office.

The smell hit me first—the familiar, suffocating mix of expensive whisky and sandalwood.

I slammed the door and locked it, the *click* of the bolt echoing in the silence. I went straight for his desk, tearing through drawers until I found it. His diary.

I sat on the couch, my hands shaking as I opened the worn leather cover. A photo fell out.

Oh God.

"Why? Why, Papa? Why did you have to leave me? You didn't even love me enough... you just made me strong and left me." My voice broke, my throat tightening until it hurt to swallow. "Why did you leave me?" I screamed at the empty room.

Then, I saw the notes.

20 April 2000

Today, my princess was born. She’s so tiny... God, how am I supposed to keep her happy and safe? She looks so beautiful... so fragile... I love her.

My breath hitched. I flipped the pages, my vision blurring.

**29 January 2010**

Today is the first day I shouted at my princess. I didn’t want to. I knew she didn’t break the vase, her sister did. But she didn’t fight. Why didn't she fight? I wanted her to fight, yet she didn't.

18 November 2016

She didn't do anything... and I slapped her. I didn't want to... Why is she not fighting? God, please... I want my princess to fight... not just take all the pain.

The paper was stained with old tears. My own tears began to drip onto the ink as I read about the bruises, the belt marks, the 5th of March 2020 where he begged God to kill him for what he’d done to me. And then, the last entry.

9 August 2025

I’m so happy. My princess is married now. She didn't even look at me while leaving... but her husband, I know he’s the one.

He will love her to death, which I couldn't do. I’m a  disappointment. I failed her... but still, I love her. I have always loved her.*

The diary fell from my hands. My body went numb. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out.

"Pa... pa... Papa? Where are you?" I screamed, the sound tearing from my lungs. "Mr. Agarwal! Papa! Please come back! Please, I’m begging you! Come back, Papa! I'm sorry!"

I fell to the floor, my knees hitting the hard wood. Outside the door, the world was exploding.

Rudra was screaming, banging his fists against the oak.

"Dii! Open the door! Please! I’m begging you! For God’s sake, open the door!"

I heard Srishti wailing, her voice thin and desperate. "Dii! Please! Just let us in! Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I want my Papa!" I shrieked, my nails clawing at the rug. "Where is Mr. Agarwal? Why did he have to go?"

The panic attack hit me like a physical blow. My chest was collapsing. I couldn't breathe. I needed the noise to stop.

I needed the pain to go somewhere else. I grabbed a vase from the side table and smashed it against the floor.

I picked up a jagged shard of glass. Without thinking, I drove it deep into my thigh.

I watched the blood bloom through the fabric, hot and heavy. I didn't feel the sting—I only felt the pressure in my chest for a split second as the physical pain grounded me.

The glass stayed lodged in my skin, a red stain spreading across the floor.

"Papa... Papa... please... come back... Mr. Agarwal..." I sobbed, my voice fading into a broken whisper. "I can't breathe... make it stop... Papa... make it stop..."

I slumped against the desk, my blood soaking into the carpet, waiting for a man who would never walk through that door again.

The glass shard was still buried in my flesh, the blood cooling against my skin, but I didn't care.

I was screaming at the ceiling, my voice hoarse and raw, begging Mahadev to listen.

"Maha... Mahadev... please... Lauta do... lauta do... Q... Q... Papa... I want my father... Please... I will die... please..."

The agony in my chest was so heavy I thought my ribs would snap under the pressure. I couldn't live like this. The silence of the room was mocking me.

Then, a thunderous bang shook the door, making me jump in a blind panic.

"Baby... Kitten... please open the door," Aditya’s voice came through the wood, a broken, desperate whisper.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fresh tears burning my cheeks. I couldn't find the strength to speak.

"Kitten... please... don't do this to me... please open the door," he begged.

"Go... go away!" I screamed, the sound tearing through my throat. "I want my Papa! I want him!"

"Kitten, please open the door, baby... we will talk about this... let's talk... don't do this... please... just open the door."

I didn't answer. I slumped against the couch, the diary clutched to my chest, sobbing into the mahogany wood of the desk. "Papa... Papa... please... come back... I swear... I will fight... Papa..."

Outside, the banging became more violent, but the world outside that office didn't exist anymore. I was drowning. "Mahadev... please... give him back... Bholenath... Lauta do... Papa ko... please."

Suddenly, the noise stopped. The banging, the shouting, the crying—it all vanished into a vacuum.

The air in the room shifted, growing cold and smelling faintly of sandalwood and the outdoors. A shiver raced down my spine.

I looked up, and my breath hitched. There, sitting on the small leather couch, was a man.

He looked younger, vibrant, wearing simple white clothes. He slowly turned his head toward me, and my heart stopped.

He smiled. It was the smile from the old photos.

"Papa?" I whispered, scrambling toward him on my knees. I fell at his feet, and I felt it—the weight of his hand resting on my head, caressing my hair. It felt so real. "Papa... can you hear me?"

"Mr. Agarwal se sidha Papa..." he chuckled, his voice exactly as I remembered it from my childhood.

"Come back... please... I need you... I want you... I will fight... I will, I promise... I swear... just come back."

"Ek baat bolun?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I sobbed.

"I am proud of you, princess... you have no idea... I am so happy and proud of you."

"Why did you leave, Papa? Why?"

"Maybe it was my time, princess... but you, you are my little warrior. You have a long life... You have a husband... you will have a baby."

I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. "I... I... can't, Papa... I... I... can't become a mother."

He chuckled, the sound warm and grounding. "Aur yeh kisne kaha aap se, princess?"

"After my accident... and everything... I found out."

He leaned in, his eyes shining. "Tumhare kismat mein do Rajkumar aur ek Rajkumari hai... princess."

I didn't want to hear about the future. I didn't want the kids. I wanted him. "I don't want anyone... I want you... please... come back..."

"He will always keep you happy, princess," he said, looking toward the door. "Zindagi ho tum uska... maut se khel gaya woh... kismat bhi uske saamne haar maan gaya... sab thik ho jaayega... sabar rakhna aur ladte rehna."

"Papa please... come back..."

He leaned forward and pressed a cold, sweet kiss to my forehead. "Always remember, your Papa, your Mr. Agarwal, is always proud of you. Ab time ho gaya hai... Goodbye, princess."

"No! Wait!" I reached out, but he vanished into the air like smoke.

"Di... kisse baat kar rahi ho?"

Rudra’s voice snapped me back to reality.

I spun around. The door was splintered and hanging off its hinges. Aditya was standing there, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying. My mother and Srishti were huddled together, sobbing.

Rudra was staring at me as if I were a ghost.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking. I ran to Rudra and grabbed his arms. "Did you see him? I saw him... did you?"

He looked at me with a mixture of pity and horror. "Dii... kisko dekha? Kya bol rahi ho?"

My blood boiled. The peace I felt moments ago vanished. I pushed him back, but Aditya caught him before he fell.

"Mr. Agarwal! My father! My Papa, damn it! Didn't you see him? I talked to him... he talked to me!"

They were all staring at me in a deafening silence.

"For God’s sake, say something! Did you see him?" I turned to my mother, begging. She only cried harder, covering her mouth.

"Baby, koi nahi hai wahan," Aditya whispered, taking a step toward me.

"Stop... stop fucking saying that, Adi! I was just talking with him!"

He came closer, his hands reaching for mine. "We will talk about this... later, okay?"

I shoved him away, my voice rising to a scream. "Wait... wait... do you guys think that I’m crazy? Of course you think that!" I let out a jagged, hysterical chuckle.

"What have you done?" Rudra suddenly shouted, his eyes dropping to the floor. "You’re bleeding... Oh my God... look at her leg!"

Aditya’s gaze followed Rudra’s. His entire expression transformed—the worry vanished, replaced by a cold, explosive fury.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled, his voice echoing like a gunshot in the small office. He fisted his hands in his hair, pacing a small circle. "Why do you always have to hurt yourself? Why, damn it?"

I just stood there, looking at him, the adrenaline finally fading as the pain in my leg began to throb.

He didn't wait for an answer. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm in a grip of iron. He started dragging me downstairs, past my crying mother and confused siblings.

He didn't say a word to anyone. He was treating me like trash, like a problem that needed to be hauled away.

He threw open the car door, shoved me into the passenger seat, and hopped into the driver's side, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled.

He didn't look at me; he just stared at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

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