That evening, she tried to push her fears aside. It was 8 p.m., and the town was alive with celebrations. The temple courtyard was filled with people, eager to witness the classical dance performances. She sat in front of the mirror backstage, preparing herself.

Her slender fingers carefully rubbed kajal around her big, expressive eyes, creating a striking wing that accentuated their beauty. She repeated the process for her other eye, ensuring symmetry, then placed a small red tilak between her eyebrows. With her makeup complete, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, confident yet burdened. She forced a smile, trying to suppress the storm within her, and took a deep breath.

When her name was called, she rose gracefully and stepped onto the stage. The sound of the song filled the air, and her feet instinctively followed the rhythm. Every beat was matched with a precise tap of her heels. Her hands moved fluidly, weaving a story in tandem with the lyrics. Her eyebrows danced with emotion, and her large, expressive eyes brought the song's meaning to life.

For those moments, she was free. The audience was mesmerized by her performance, and as she finished, the courtyard erupted in thunderous applause. Joy surged through her heart, momentarily washing away her fears. She bowed gracefully, hands folded in gratitude, before stepping off the stage.

****

Backstage, she began removing her jewelry, her hands moving mechanically as her mind replayed the applause she had just received. For a brief moment, she felt at peace. Then her phone buzzed on the table. The sharp sound shattered her fleeting calm, sending a ripple of unease through her. She picked up the device, pressing it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said hesitantly.

“Asha,” a voice answered, cold and familiar.

Her blood ran cold. Her fingers tightened around the phone, and her breath caught in her throat. She knew that voice too well. It was him—the man who had once controlled her life, the man who haunted her nightmares.

“I thought you were serious about finding your father,” he continued, his tone mocking yet laced with a sinister edge. “But instead, you’re here, dancing in the temple like nothing’s wrong. Really, Asha? Such a devoted daughter you are.”

Her heart skipped a beat. How did he know? Her knees weakened, and she clutched the edge of the table for support. A chill ran down her spine as the horrifying realization hit her—he was watching her.

“Hello?” he said again, his tone taunting.

She forced herself to speak, though her voice trembled. “Leave him,” she pleaded. “He did nothing to you. Please, leave my father out of this.”

“How about you come and take him back yourself?” he replied, his voice dripping with malice. “That’s the only way this ends. And don’t even think about going to the police, Asha. You know exactly what I’m capable of.”

Her stomach churned as he continued. “Out of the kindness of my heart, I’m giving you a chance. Come back, or you’ll regret it.”

The line went dead before she could say another word.

Her hands shook as she tried redialing the number, but it wouldn’t connect. Over and over, she attempted, her desperation growing with each failed attempt. The phone slipped from her hand, and she slumped to the floor, her breathing erratic.

Her mind raced. How did he know she was at the temple? Was he there, watching her in the crowd? Or had he sent someone else to follow her? The idea of being under constant surveillance made her skin crawl. She looked around the dimly lit backstage room, suddenly hyper-aware of every shadow, every creak of the floorboards.

Tears streamed down her face as fear gripped her. He had her father, and now he had her in his sights again. The walls of safety she had built around herself were crumbling. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless. For a moment, all she could do was sit there, consumed by the horrifying thought that he was always one step ahead, watching her every move, and waiting for her to fall into his trap.

*****

The doctor drew blood from Raghav’s forearm, filling the tube efficiently. Raghav sat still, his arm extended nonchalantly, but a flicker of anger simmered beneath his composed exterior. His pride was already bruised from having to seek help—from his own elder brother, no less—to find her.

Across from him, his elder brother lounged in a large chair, watching him intently, the scrutiny alone enough to gnaw at Raghav’s nerves. But he said nothing. He knew better than to challenge his brother in moments like this. If he pushed, provoked, or so much as scoffed, he would be subjected to an endless lecture—one he had no patience for.

Once the doctor finished, he left the room, and his brother stood up. Raghav began rolling his sleeve back down, but before he could, his brother clapped a heavy hand on his back.

"Try stunts like this again," his brother warned, his voice tinged with amusement and a sharp edge of authority, "and I swear, I’ll take her away from you myself."

Their relationship had always been an odd mix of rivalry, protection, and unspoken loyalty.

Raghav clenched his jaw, his fingers curling slightly. His voice was low but firm as he muttered, "Try it. I’ll have my day too, and I’m not just warning you—I will hide your bride in the future."

His brother let out a short, dark chuckle. "Don’t underestimate me, Raghav," he said. "Just because you took the fall for me, went to jail in my place, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I owe you, sure. I’ll always be thankful. But don’t mistake that for weakness. I’m not here to entertain your threats or indulge your tantrums. I won’t spoil you."

And yet, in truth, it was the opposite.

His elder brother had spoiled him, far more than he ever admitted. He had always given Raghav whatever he asked for, without question, without resistance. That was precisely why, when Raghav came to him demanding help to find her, he hadn't asked for details about their relationship. It simply didn’t matter to him. If Raghav wanted something, he made sure he got it. That was how their bond worked.

But this time, things had spiraled beyond control.

A week passed, and his brother was unable to find any trace of her. The frustration, the desperation—it clawed at Raghav, tightening its grip with every passing moment. Unable to bear the agony of not knowing, of waiting, of picturing worst-case scenarios, he turned to something he shouldn’t have.

Drugs.

A high dose—one strong enough to pull him into his own illusions, to bring her back to him in the only way he could. He smoked, inhaled, drowned himself in the haze for an entire week, until his body finally gave out. When his brother found him, unconscious in a locked room, he was barely breathing. He was rushed to the hospital, and treatment began immediately, but the damage was already done. He slipped into a coma.

One month and thirteen days.

That was how long he was lost in the abyss, trapped in a world where she existed only in his hallucinations.

When he finally woke up, groggy and disoriented, the first thing his brother told him was that he had found her. Relief and fury clashed within him. But before he could demand to see her, his brother laid down a condition—recovery first. Heal yourself, and then you can have what you’re looking for.

So he did. He forced himself to recover, pushed his limits. And now, today, he was finally strong enough. Strong enough to see her, to find her, to claim her.

But the moment he laid eyes on her, everything inside him twisted into something dark, something unfamiliar.

She was fine.

She was doing fine.

She had a job. A livelihood. Money. A place of her own. People around her.

She wasn’t suffering. She wasn’t helpless, desperate, or at someone’s mercy.

And that was unacceptable.

He had been losing his mind over her—drowning in his own obsession, spiraling into madness. He had spent nights clutching onto the damn ring she once wore, the one given by her late husband, holding onto it like it was his last link to her. It didn’t matter that it was her dead husband’s ring. All that mattered was that it was something of hers—a piece of her existence that he could cling to, that made him feel less alone.

And yet, here she was. Laughing. Smiling. Talking to people.

It infuriated him.

She never laughed with him.

She barely even spoke to him.

Their conversations were always forced—his words dragging responses from her, her voice reluctant, hesitant, like she was only speaking out of necessity.

But here, in this new life she had built, she was different. Open. Engaged. Free.

He watched her from the shadows, absorbing every detail, his fists clenched at his sides.

For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind—dragging her back into his world, his arms, his prison. Locking her away where she belonged.

But he didn’t move.

He simply stood there, unseen, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface as he watched the woman who had shattered him... living a life that didn't include him.

A deep, suffocating heaviness settled in his chest as he watched her—happy, giggly, *talkative*. She was surrounded by people, effortlessly blending into their world, yet she had never once looked at him as if he were human. Never once had she seen him as anything other than a force to be endured, a presence to be tolerated. The contrast stung, the realization like a sharp blade carving through his insides.

But then things changed. Out of everything, it was her smile that unraveled him.

She was smiling. Smiling beautifully.