Lifting the bottle, Raghav tilted it back, the bitter burn of wine sliding down his throat, doing little to numb the storm raging within him. He set it down heavily on the table, his trembling fingers returning to the laptop in front of him. The screen flickered as he sifted through empty folders, hoping against hope that something—anything—remained.

But it was all gone. Every file. Every image. Every trace.

Asha had done it. She had deleted everything before she ran. His jaw clenched at the memory of her defiance, her determination to break free. He had promised her she would be free after two weeks. He had told her he would let her go, but deep down, he knew he had never intended to. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and he had broken that promise.

She couldn’t live with him, though. He had seen it in her eyes every day—the silent resentment, the way she shrank from his touch, the way her spirit dimmed under his control. And so, she had waited for her moment.

The blackout she caused was clever—simple yet effective. She used it to escape, slipping away into the night like a shadow. But what gnawed at him now wasn’t just her absence; it was what she had done before she left. She had wiped his laptop and phone clean, deleting every single file, including the photos.

The photos.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She thought she was protecting herself, that those photos were a threat he held over her. What she didn’t know was that he had deleted them long ago. He could never risk them leaking—not just because of her dignity, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else seeing her like that. But she didn’t know, and in her desperation, she erased everything.

Now, Raghav sat amidst the ruins of his carefully constructed world. His team was out scouring the villages, following every lead, while he combed through hours of CCTV footage from the roads near his house. Bus after bus, auto after auto, he scrutinized every frame, every face. Three days had passed, and he was no closer to finding her.

His obsession consumed him. He hadn’t slept since the night she left. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl of anger, longing, and regret. The house felt emptier than ever, her absence like a gaping wound he couldn’t ignore.

On the fourth day, he sat in his office, dressed sharply but looking anything but composed. Dark circles marred his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his hands shook slightly as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily around him as he stared blankly at the wall, his mind spiraling.

The sound of the door opening pulled him back to reality. His brother entered, his steady footsteps echoing in the room. Larger and more commanding, his presence filled the space with an authority Raghav lacked in that moment.

Raghav looked up as his brother settled into the chair opposite him, leaning back casually with one leg crossed over the other.

“I need your help,” Raghav said, his voice raw and hoarse.

His brother didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette paper, methodically stuffing it with weed before twisting it closed. He lit it with practiced ease, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke before finally speaking.

“What do you want?”

“I need you to find her,” Raghav said, leaning forward, his desperation spilling out. “Asha. She’s out there, and I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. I need her back. Whatever it takes, I don’t care. Just find her!”

His brother studied him for a long moment, taking in the disheveled beard, the bloodshot eyes, the frantic energy barely contained beneath the surface. He nodded slowly.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Four more days passed, each one more excruciating than the last. Raghav paced his office like a caged animal, his frustration bubbling over into fits of rage. He slammed his fist against the desk, ran his hands through his hair, and muttered under his breath.

“She can’t just disappear,” he growled. “Not like this.”

He couldn’t shake the image of her—the way she looked at him with silent defiance, the way her lips quivered when she spoke, the way she used to sit quietly, her presence both a comfort and a torment.

He couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.

But Asha was gone, and no matter how hard he searched, she remained out of reach—a ghost of the life he had tried to force upon her. And as the days stretched on, Raghav realized the truth that haunted him more than her absence: she would rather erase every trace of herself than stay with him.

It was a defeat he couldn’t accept, a wound he couldn’t heal, and a reality he refused to face. For now, all he could do was keep searching, the walls of his world closing in tighter with every passing moment.

****

Pulling the flower through the needle and thread, she gently pushed back the vibrant yellow marigold, her hands steady despite the rush of emotions within her. She picked up an orange one next, carefully stitching them into a harmonious pattern for the garland. The fragrant blooms began to take the shape of a beautiful decoration for the temple.

The day stretched long as she stitched garland after garland. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, she walked back to the small temporary hut. It wasn’t much, but it was a safe haven shared with the kind old woman who had offered her shelter.

It hadn’t been long since she had escaped. The day she ran away felt like a blur—filled with fear, desperation, and determination. She had spent hours traveling on a bus, aimlessly heading toward nowhere. When the bus stopped at a roadside eatery for meals, she found herself at a small tiffin center, her hunger overwhelming the chaos of her thoughts.

As she savored the simple but warm meal, she couldn’t help but notice how overwhelmed the old woman running the tiffin center appeared. The influx of passengers had brought a flurry of activity, and without thinking twice, she stepped forward to help. Clearing tables, fetching water, and serving plates—it was an act of kindness, but also a way to distract herself from her own turmoil.

At the end of the day, the old woman offered her a place to rest—a tiny corner in her small home. Grateful for the unexpected kindness, she accepted. Over the next couple of days, she continued to assist the old woman, not just out of gratitude, but because it gave her a sense of purpose.

Eventually, she found work at a nearby temple, where she was hired to make garlands and assist with small tasks. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She spent her days threading flowers and tidying the temple, her mind slowly finding clarity amid the rhythmic patterns of her work.

One night, during a grand Maha Utsav celebration at the temple, she saw something that stirred a forgotten part of her soul. Classical dancers adorned in exquisite costumes performed with grace and precision, their movements telling stories that spoke of freedom and expression. Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope—a longing to be part of something beautiful.

Determined, she sought out the dance teacher the next day and asked if she could work as an assistant. To her surprise and relief, the teacher agreed, giving her a chance to earn her place in this world of art. Her responsibilities included guiding new learners through basic steps, assisting with their makeup during performances, and managing costumes for events.

With the money she had taken when she fled—her only safety net—she rented a modest room for a month. Every coin was precious, but she was careful, determined to stretch her resources until her work could sustain her fully.

The pain of her past lingered, but now it was accompanied by a quiet resolve. She was out of his clutches, away from her in-laws, and for the first time, she felt the faint outlines of a life she could call her own. Each step forward, no matter how small, was a victory. She had left behind the chains of her old life, and now, she was ready to rebuild.