Life had taken a peaceful turn for her, especially after she freed herself from the clutches that once held her down. She was finally enjoying her life with her hard-earned money, choosing not to save it for now so she could embrace the feeling of living without any restrictions. First time in a long while, she allowed herself to revel in the freedom of living without restrictions. However, the money she had taken from the mansion was carefully set aside, serving as a quiet assurance of security for the future. She had chosen to take a significant amount of cash without hesitation, prioritizing her survival over rigid morality. She didn’t concern herself with the possibility of being labeled a thief—after all, one couldn’t afford to cling to high morals during moments of desperation and survival.

Her days began early, filled with a serene rhythm that brought her unexpected joy. Each morning, she rose at dawn to assist the elderly woman who had become both a mentor and a friend, helping with the small business they ran together. By 10 a.m., she was at the classical dance school, immersing herself in a world of rhythm, discipline, and grace. The school had become her sanctuary, with the structured shifts broken up by short moments of rest.

Her life reached a pinnacle of joy and fulfillment when her dance teacher recognized her innate talent and passion for the art. One fateful day, an unexpected opportunity arose—a student was forced to quit suddenly, leaving an empty spot in the group performance at the temple. Asha, who had already mastered the choreography and often helped guide others, was asked to step in.

Without hesitation, she embraced the opportunity, her heart swelling with excitement and gratitude. When she performed on stage, her presence was electric. She danced with such fervor and authenticity that it left a lasting impression on everyone who watched, including her teacher. Her performance was not only a success but also a revelation. The teacher began to include her in more stage performances, trusting her ability to bring life and emotion to the dance. For Asha, these moments on stage were not just about dancing—they were about reclaiming her sense of self and finding joy in the present.

Despite her newfound contentment, there were remnants of her past that occasionally surfaced. When she left the mansion, she had severed ties with both the place and the man who had haunted her life there. She hadn’t thought about him or the house, not even once, though his face still appeared in her nightmares. Her time at the mansion had conditioned her to live in survival mode, leaving her little space to process the emotional scars or his actions.

But slowly, without even realizing it, she was healing. Through her work, her dance, and the simple pleasures of daily life, she was rebuilding herself. The rhythm of her new life, filled with purpose and creativity, was mending the wounds she hadn’t yet named. For the first time in years, she felt alive—unburdened, free, and quietly hopeful for the future.

Amid her newfound peace and healing, one thought continued to haunt her—her father. It had been over a year since she had last visited him, and the weight of that realization gnawed at her soul. She often wondered how he was doing, whether he was even alive, and what state he might be in. The guilt of staying away for so long consumed her, and she began to loathe herself for being what she saw as a terrible daughter.

No matter how strained their relationship had been, no matter the pain he had caused her by almost selling her off to settle his debts and fund his addiction, she couldn’t erase him from her heart. He was her father, and the thought of him dying alone and being buried without anyone to mourn him was unbearable. The very idea caused a sharp pang in her chest, and she knew she couldn’t find peace until she faced the truth.

Without hesitation, she decided to visit her native village and check on him. As she made her way there, a wave of nostalgia washed over her. The familiar smell of the countryside, the sound of birdsong, and the sight of the fields she had played in as a child brought back memories of a simpler time. For a fleeting moment, the warmth of her childhood seemed to comfort her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the growing dread in her heart.

When she finally arrived at her father’s house, her heart sank—he wasn’t there. The place was eerily quiet, devoid of his presence. Fighting the panic rising within her, she began searching for him in the usual places he frequented. She went to the spot where he and his old drinking companions used to gather, but it was empty. Desperation pushed her to the nearby fields, but again, there was no sign of him.

Her chest tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes. Every step she took felt heavier than the last as her mind spiraled into the worst possibilities. What if something terrible had happened to him? What if he had truly died alone, just as she feared? Her instincts, however, whispered another possibility—one far more chilling. She feared that he had been taken away by the man who had once held her captive in a non-consensual relationship.

This man, whose shadow had loomed over her for so long, was capable of anything. The thought of him coming after her father to manipulate or punish her sent shivers down her spine. Her instincts screamed at her, convincing her that this wasn’t just a random disappearance—it was connected to him.

Desperate for answers, she sought out the neighbors, hoping they might have some information. To her relief, they told her that her father wasn’t dead. But that relief was short-lived. They revealed that a group of men had taken him away a few months ago. Her worst fears seemed to be coming true. Tears streamed down her face as she listened, her instincts pointing directly to the man she dreaded the most.

Despite her fear, she wasn’t entirely certain. Her father was unpredictable, capable of actions she could never fully anticipate. For all she knew, this could have been his doing, a result of his own troubled choices. Yet, deep down, she felt that this was different—this was about her, not him.

She tried to search for him, visiting places where he might have been taken or could have escaped to. But every lead led to the same answer: he had been taken, and no one knew where or why. Her heart grew heavier with each dead end, and her mind raced with thoughts of what might have happened to him.

Finally, with no other options, she went to the police station to file a missing person report. She gave them all the details she could—his physical description, his habits, and the timeframe of his disappearance. She left the station with a sense of helplessness, unsure if she had done enough.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, she decided not to return to her father’s empty home. The house felt too quiet, too full of unanswered questions. Instead, she made her way back to her own home—the place she had carved out for herself away from the pain of her past.

As she sat alone in her small, comforting space, her emotions surged. Fear for her father’s safety, anger at the circumstances, and guilt for not being there sooner consumed her. Yet, amid the storm of emotions, a small flicker of determination remained. She would find her father, no matter how long it took or how dangerous the path ahead might be. For now, she resolved to gather her strength and prepare for whatever came next.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of worry and despair. Her mind was consumed by thoughts of her missing father. Each morning began with a heavy heart, and each night ended with restless sleep filled with nightmares. Three days after filing the police report, she started visiting the station regularly, desperate for updates. At first, it was once a day, but by the end of the week, her visits doubled, sandwiched between her work and dance classes.

Her growing fear and loneliness gnawed at her. Though she tried to immerse herself in dance, her focus wavered, her movements less precise, her expressions lacking their usual fire. Something was always lurking at the back of her mind, pulling her away from the present.

The days felt heavier with each passing moment. A strange, oppressive atmosphere began to surround her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, as though unseen eyes tracked her every move. She became hyper-aware of her surroundings, her paranoia mounting. At home, she felt no sense of safety. The walls that should have shielded her felt thin, as if they offered no protection. It was as though she were exposed, vulnerable to whatever threat might come her way.