PAST

SMIRTI POV

I reached home around evening and rang the doorbell.

Shweta opened it.

And smiled.

Not a normal smile.

A slow… satisfied… evil smile.

I didn’t understand what she was thinking, but whenever she smiled like that — something bad followed.

I ignored it and stepped inside.

“I’m going to my room,” I said softly.

Before I could walk further—

“Smriti.”

Chacha’s voice stopped me.

I froze.

I turned slowly.

“Yes, Chacha?”

He walked toward me.

His face was not normal.

Before I could understand anything—

SLAP.

His hand struck my cheek so hard that my head snapped to the side.

I lost balance and stumbled against the stairs.

“Chacha… what happened?” I cried, holding my face.

Another slap.

Harder.

“You liar!” he shouted.

Tears blurred my vision.

“I… I didn’t do anything!”

“You were saving money?” he roared. “You kept saying you don’t have money!”

My heart dropped.

“You have 30,000 in your bank!”

I felt the world tilt.

How…?

How did they know?

“No, Chacha… it’s not like that…” I tried to explain.

Before I could finish—

Chachi came from behind and grabbed my hair violently.

Pain shot through my scalp as she dragged me toward the store room.

“You think you’re clever?” she spat. “Hiding money from us?”

She pushed me inside store room and threw me onto the floor.

Then she picked up a stick kept near the door.

And started hitting me.

making my body ache everywhere.

“Give us that money!” she screamed with every strike.

“Or we know other ways to deal with you!”

I curled up, crying uncontrollably.

“I won’t give it!” I sobbed. “That’s my money!”

I looked toward Chacha for help.

But the look in his eyes—

It wasn’t anger anymore.

It was something else.

Something that made my blood run cold.

And then it clicked.

Lust.

My breath stopped.

I am his daughter’s age.

How could he even think—

Shame burned through me.

Chachi stepped aside.

Chacha came closer and grabbed my hair again, forcing me to look at him.

“If you don’t transfer that money,” he said darkly, “you will regret it.”

He pulled at my saree’s pallu roughly, making me scream,

“Chacha!”

Fear swallowed me whole.

He began unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

I felt sick.

“I’ll tell Shweta!” I cried desperately. “I’ll tell everyone what kind of parents you are!”

Another slap.

My ears rang.

He leaned closer and said in a low, threatening voice,

“By tonight. 10 p.m. I want that money in my account.”

His eyes scanned me in a way that made me want to disappear.

“Otherwise… I won’t leave you. And after that, forget about marriage. No one will accept you.”

My body trembled.

Both of them walked out.

And locked the door from outside.

I lay there on the cold floor.

On my stomach.

Crying so hard I could barely breathe.

“Mumma… Papa…” I whispered.

I wanted to leave.

I wanted to run.

But these people would never let me go peacefully.

How did they know about my savings?

Shweta.

Of course.

I hugged myself tightly.

For the first time in my life—

I felt truly unsafe in that house.

“Please God…” I whispered through tears.

“Please save me.”

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AUTHOR POV

Inside that locked store room,

Smriti wasn’t just crying.

She was breaking.

For the first time in her life,

she did not feel insulted…

she did not feel poor…

she did not feel helpless…

She felt unsafe.

Those walls that once felt suffocating now felt dangerous.

The people she lived with were no longer just cruel—

They were a threat.

She hugged herself tightly, as if her own arms could replace the safety she had lost years ago.

She wanted her mother’s lap.

She wanted her father’s protective hand over her head.

She wanted someone’s arms around her — not out of love, not out of romance —

but out of protection.

Just once.

Just once, she wanted to feel safe again.

Tears soaked the cold floor beneath her.

Her breathing was uneven.

Her trust in that house was gone forever.

But destiny was moving quietly.

Because when a girl prays from fear,

when her voice trembles not from weakness but from desperation—

God listens.

And very soon…

Someone would stand between her and the world.

But before protection comes—

There is always one last storm.