The afternoon lay heavy over the house.

Heat seeped in through the cracks of the closed windows, wrapping the silent rooms in a suffocating stillness.

Outside, the world buzzed faintly—the distant honk of a scooter, the cry of a hawker, the call of a crow perched on a telephone wire. But inside, everything was locked away.

The house was a tomb, and she, its ghost.

She moved with careful rhythm through the chores, her soft bare feet barely making a sound as they touched the stone floor.

The shawl clung to her shoulders and veiled her face, as though she could hide even from the walls that had caged her since birth.

Her thin wrists worked as she scrubbed the floor, palms raw against the wet rag.

Each stroke was silent, precise.

She had learned long ago that silence was her only shield.

Her body was fragile, but her fear made her fast. She dusted, wiped, folded, arranged, every action so practiced it was almost mechanical. She dared not falter. Faltering meant punishment. And punishment meant pain.

The house was supposed to be empty now.

Father at work. Mother at her friend’s house. Kavya at college. Aman somewhere wasting time.

That was how it always went. She was alone, as she always was, locked from outside, imprisoned inside.

Her stomach gnawed faintly from hunger, but she didn’t mind. She had eaten some cold scraps earlier—the leftover piece of bread her brother had left uneaten, the last sip of tea her sister hadn’t finished.

That was enough.

More than enough, in her world.

The sun outside must have been bright; she could see faint golden dust drifting through the small crack of the window. She paused, wiping her hands on her worn kurta, and tiptoed toward it.

Rising on her toes, she peered out through the splintered gap.

The sky. Blue. Endless. She stared at it with wide, trembling eyes, as though it were something forbidden. For her, it was.

Her lips parted soundlessly, her mind whispering words she had never dared to speak.

'Kaisa hoga… agar hum bhi wahan hote? Agar hawa ko mehsoos karte… agar suraj hame chhoota… toh kaisa lagta?'
(What would it be like… if I were out there? If I felt the wind… if the sun touched me… how would it feel?)

She pressed her forehead against the wooden frame, closing her eyes, letting her imagination fill the silence. For a moment, just a moment, she wasn’t a prisoner.

But then—

The sound of the bolt clanking.

Her eyes flew open.

The main door. It was being unlocked.

Her breath caught in her throat. They had returned. Too early.

Her heart hammered wildly against her chest. Panic surged through her veins.

'Kyoon? Kyoon woh ghar aa gaye itni jaldi? Unhone hame dekh liya kya? Hamne kuch galat kiya kya? Kyoon ghar aa gaye? Abhi kyoon? Hamne sab sahi kiya tha… koi galti ho gayi kya? He bhagwan, he bhagwan… woh hame saza denge. Maarenge hame. Hame aur chup rehna chahiye tha. Pehle hi chhup jaana chahiye tha.'
(Why? Why are they home already? Did they see me? Did I do something wrong? Why are they home? Why now? I did everything right. Did I make a mistake? Oh God, oh God… they’ll punish me. They’ll beat me. I should have been quieter. I should have hidden sooner.)

She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the rag she had been using. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched her shawl tighter around her face.

'Woh hame saza denge… Baba hame saza denge… Maa thappad maregi… hame bahar nahi dekhna chahiye tha… Kaam karna nahi rokna chahiye tha…'
(They’ll punish me… baba will punish me… Maa will slap me… I shouldn’t have looked outside. I shouldn’t have stopped working…)

Her body moved on instinct—she ran, darting across the room, and squeezed herself into the small storage space near the kitchen, pressing her body against the wall, curling as small as possible.

Her hands trembled as she pressed the shawl tighter around her face, curling herself small behind the crates. She made herself into a shadow, praying that the sound of her own heartbeat wasn’t loud enough to betray her.

The door creaked open. Footsteps.

Voices filled the house.

And then another sound—unfamiliar.

Multiple footsteps.

Different tones.

Laughter that was harsh, grating.

Along with her father and mother came others. Heavy footsteps, deep laughter that sent chills down her spine. Voices she didn’t recognize.

Her mother’s voice cut through the air, sharp as always.

“Chup raho. Baith jao.”
(Be quiet. Sit down.)

One of the men laughed.

“Arre Sharma ji, humne toh socha tum mazaak kar rahe ho.”
(Sharma ji, we thought you were joking.)

Her father’s voice followed, hard and cruel.

“Main mazaak nahi karta. Woh cheez tumhari hai ab.”
(I don’t joke. That thing is yours now.)

Her heart skipped.
Thing?

Her body went rigid as realization slowly dawned.

Her father’s footsteps echoed closer. Then, his voice—loud, venomous—shattered the silence.

“Arrey, nikal bahar! Suar ki aulad! Idhar aa!”
(Come out, you pig’s child! Come here!)

She flinched violently. Her body refused to move, but her mind screamed. She couldn’t disobey. He would drag her out, beat her until her skin turned blue.

With trembling legs, she crawled out of the storage, her shawl pulled low over her face, her head bowed so deeply her chin touched her chest. Her entire body shook as she stepped into the open.

The men turned to look at her. Their eyes—hungry, cruel, filled with something she couldn’t understand but instinctively feared. Their smiles weren’t kind; they were twisted, evil.

The men didn’t look like neighbors, or relatives, or anyone normal. Their eyes were sharp, greedy, their mouths twisted into crooked smirks.

Their clothes were cheap, but their presence felt dangerous.

The air seemed heavier just with them standing there.

One of them spat onto the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Another adjusted the knife at his waistband casually, as though it were no more than a belt.

One of them let out a low whistle.

“Yeh hai woh? Kaafi… kaam ki lagti hai.”
(This is her? She looks… useful enough.)

Another chuckled darkly.

“Abhi zara patli hai. Lekin hum thik kardenge isko.”
(She’s too thin right now. But we’ll make her right.)

She didn’t understand all their words, but the tone was enough. Her stomach twisted painfully, her chest tightening until she could barely breathe.

Her wide eyes lifted, just for a second, to her father and mother—pleading silently, desperately.

Her eyes glistened with tears, begging them to tell her this was a joke. That these men weren’t here for her. That they weren’t giving her away like trash.

But her father just jerked his chin toward her, turning to the men.

“Yahi hai. Le jao ise.”
(This is her. Take her.)

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

She had heard him.
She wasn’t sure she understood, but she had heard the words—Le jao ise.

Her gaze darted to her mother, her eyes wet, pleading silently:

'Keh do ki ye sach nahi hai. Keh do ki ye ek mazaak hai. Please. Please...'

(Tell me this is not real. Tell me this is a joke. Please. Please…)

Her mother’s eyes slid over her as though she wasn’t even human. As though she was handing over a sack of garbage.

The men stood, stepping toward her.

She stumbled back, shaking her head slightly, silently, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to scream 'No'  She wanted to beg. But her voice had been buried so deep, it no longer came.

One of the men chuckled.

“Chalo theek hai. Paisa waise bhi mil jaenge. Ab maal humara.”
(Alright then. You’ll get your money. Now the girl is ours.)

Her mind reeled.

Sold?

The word crashed against her skull, over and over.

Sold? Like an object?

Her chest heaved. Her throat burned with words she couldn’t release. Tears welled, spilling over silently, soaking the edge of her shawl.

She shook her head faintly, trembling from head to toe, her eyes begging, pleading, screaming without sound:

'please aesa mat karo. Please hame inke saath mat bhejo. Please...'

(Please don’t this. Please don’t send me with them. Please…)

But her father only looked at her with disgust.

“Chal ab. Jaldi kar.”
(Go now. Hurry up.)

She staggered back a step, heart slamming against her ribs. Her hands trembled so hard she clutched at her shawl to keep from collapsing.

The men moved forward.

She flinched, stumbling further back until her shoulders hit the wall. Panic surged through her, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Her mind screamed.

'nahi, nahi, nahi! Ye hame chot pohunchayenge! Please, unhe aesa mat karne do! Please, koi toh-'
(No, no, no! They’ll hurt me! Please, don’t let them! Please, someone—)

But no one came.

A rough hand grabbed her arm. She gasped soundlessly, her body jerking like a trapped animal.

Another clutched her shoulder, jerking her forward. She stumbled, the shawl slipping slightly, revealing the pale, tear-streaked face she always kept hidden.

“Arrey, yeh toh bilkul hi bacchi lagti hai,” one of them sneered, laughter following his words.
(Arrey, she looks like a child.)

The words made her flinch harder. Her breath rattled.

Her tears fell faster, her lips quivering. She turned her face, trying to hide, but the men only laughed.

“Chal, chal. Ab tu hamari hai.”
(Come on. Now you’re ours.)

Her eyes clung to her father, wet and shining, pleading.

' please... mat karo. Unhe hame le jane mat do. Ham achi bachi bankar rahenge. Ham sab kaam karenge. Hame mat bhejo'

(Please… don’t. Don’t let them take me. I’ll be good girl. I’ll do every work. Don’t send me away.)

But Raghav didn't even looked at her and only waved his hand dismissively, his face twisted with irritation. His hands were busy counting the money.

“Le jao ise. Ab meri aankhon ke saamne bhi mat laana.”
(Take her away. And don’t ever bring her back before my eyes.)

Something broke inside her then.

Her sobs were silent, her resistance weak. She was dragged across the floor, her bare feet scraping against the tiles. Her hands clawed uselessly at the air, her body twisting, but it was no use.

The bolt of the door rattled open. Sunlight streamed in, bright and blinding.

For the first time in her life, she stood at the threshold of the world outside. But it wasn’t freedom that awaited her. It was another prison. Another nightmare.

As the men pulled her out, her last sight was of her father shutting the door behind her. The same door that had locked her in every day of her life.

This time, it had shut her out forever.

The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was her father’s face—cold, proud—and her mother adjusting her bangles, as if nothing had happened.

And then the world she knew, as dark as it was, ended.

The afternoon air outside was still, hot, and heavy, but she could not feel it. She could not feel anything except the terrible weight pressing against her chest, crushing her from the inside out.

Her legs, weak and trembling, had barely been able to move when those men—those strangers with rough hands and eyes that burned with cruelty—had dragged her out of the only house she had ever known.

Her heart was still hammering as if it might tear straight through her ribcage and fall into the dirt.

The last image seared into her mind was her father’s cold face, lips twisted with something crueler than hatred, saying words that echoed endlessly inside her skull.

“Le jao ise. Paise hum kal tak chahte hain.”
(Take her. We want the money by tomorrow.)

Those words. That final betrayal.

Her eyes, wide with terror, had filled with tears when she had looked at him, silently begging, silently pleading that this was just another one of their twisted punishments.

A test.

A game.

Anything....

But the truth had landed harder than any blow ever had: he was giving her away. Selling her like waste.

And now—

The rough shove had knocked the breath out of her, pushing her toward the waiting vehicle. It was not like the cars she sometimes glimpsed through the tiny crack of the window when she had dared peek outside in secret.

Those cars gleamed, carrying people with laughter and chatter, carrying children with balloons or schoolbags.

This… this was a monster of rust and smoke, its paint peeling, its doors groaning.

The men forced her inside.

The moment she entered, the smell attacked her—the sour stench of sweat, alcohol soaked deep into the cracked leather seats, and something metallic that made her stomach twist. She gagged silently, but no sound left her throat.

They pushed her against the corner, one of them yanking her shawl tighter across her face as if to smother the little air she had left. She curled in on herself, small, trembling, trying to make her body so tiny that they might forget she existed.

Her heart pounded with every slam of the door.

Thak. The first door shut.

Thak. Another.

Thak. Then Another.

The sound was final, sealing her inside.

Then came the engine’s growl—deep, monstrous, vibrating through the floor into her bare feet. She had never been inside a moving car before. The vibration, the lurch, the sudden pull of her body against the seat—it felt as if the world itself had decided to swallow her.

Her hands clutched the torn shawl so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling like a cornered animal.

In her mind, thoughts screamed over each other—chaotic, desperate.

kyu? Kya hame fir se saza mil rahi hai? Kya hamne kuch galat kiya? Kya ham ab saza ke layak bhi nai rahe? Kya hame isliye bhga diya ja raha hai kyuki vo ab hame marte-marte thak gae? :

(Why? Am I being punished again? Did I do something wrong? Am I not even worth punishment anymore? Are they sending me away because they are tired of hitting me? )

Tears burned the corners of her eyes, but she did not dare let them fall. She knew—somehow, instinctively—that these men would not tolerate weakness.

The car jolted forward. The movement slammed her shoulder against the door. She flinched violently, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

Every bump of the road rattled through her bones. She had no voice, but inside, her mind screamed with each turn, each sudden brake, each acceleration that made her stomach roll.

She dared not look up, but her ears betrayed her.

The men laughed, muttered things in low, husky voices. Words she barely understood, but enough.

“Dekho kitni chhoti hai… bilkul bachi.”
(Look how small she is… just a child.)

“Bachi ho ya na ho… kaam toh sab karegi.”
(Child or not… she’ll do everything.)

Laughter. Rough, ugly laughter that filled the cramped space, slithering into her ears, sinking into her skin until she felt dirty, unclean, tainted.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead to her knees, trying to disappear. Her nails dug into her arms hard enough to leave marks.

The ride stretched endlessly. She had no sense of time. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days. The heat pressed against her back. Sweat gathered on her forehead, slid down the side of her face, but she dared not lift her hand to wipe it.

The world outside the small window blurred by—fields stretching, trees swaying, sky burning with the cruel sun. She peeked once, just once, her heart begging for a glimpse of the only thing that had ever given her secret comfort—the sky.

But even the sky felt strange from here. It rolled past too fast, patches of blue interrupted by dust and trees, unreachable, untouchable.

Her breath caught. A sob pressed against her throat, but no sound came.

Time dissolved into nothingness. Her body ached from sitting stiff, muscles cramped, but she did not move. Every time one of the men shifted, she froze tighter, her body locking up as if any movement might trigger another cruelty.

And then—finally—the car slowed.

Her stomach lurched as the vehicle turned sharply off the road. The sound beneath the tires changed—the smooth hum of asphalt replaced by the crunch of gravel, the crack of twigs, the uneven bump of dirt.

She dared to lift her head, just slightly, her eyes darting to the side window.

What she saw made her heart plummet.

Fields. Endless, empty fields stretching as far as her eyes could see. No houses. No voices. No signs of life. Just the golden-brown stretch of barren land under a sky that seemed too big, too far away.

And then—there.

A village. Or what remained of one.

Crumbling walls stood like broken teeth against the horizon, half-swallowed by weeds and dust. Windows shattered, roof caved in, the skeleton of something long abandoned. To anyone passing by, it was nothing more than ruin. Forgotten. Dead.

But the car slowed to a halt before it.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought the men would hear it.

They stepped out. Boots crunched against gravel. One yanked the door open, and before she could even shrink back, a rough hand grabbed her arm, dragging her out into the harsh sunlight.

She stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the dirt. Her bare feet burned against the hot ground. Dust clung to her damp skin. She blinked against the sudden light, eyes watering, unused to seeing so much of the world at once.

Her heart whispered in her chest—run.

But where?

Into the endless emptiness?

Toward the men who surrounded her?

Into a world she didn’t even understand?

Her body refused. She stood frozen, trembling, as they pulled her toward a broken building.

The closer they came, the more her fear twisted. Something was wrong. The building looked dead, yes, but the air carried whispers—footsteps beneath the silence, voices echoing faintly.

And then she saw it.

Hidden beneath the rubble—an opening. A staircase leading down.

Her stomach dropped.

They shoved her toward it. The air grew cooler as they descended, the light dimmer. The walls closed in around her. Each step echoed, hollow, final.

The smell hit her first—dampness, rot, sweat, something foul that made her gag. The dim yellow bulbs flickered, casting shadows that moved like monsters.

The underground passage twisted, turned, until finally they reached it: rows of iron-barred cells.

And the sounds—whimpers, cries, whispers in languages she did not know. Shadows moved inside the cells, thin arms clutching at the bars, hollow eyes watching.

Her breath hitched, terror spiking sharp enough to hurt.

One of the men unlocked an empty cell and shoved her inside.

She stumbled, hitting the cold stone floor hard on her knees. Pain shot through her legs, but she didn’t make a sound. She curled against the wall, clutching her shawl, eyes wide, body trembling so hard her teeth almost chattered.

The bars clanged shut. The sound echoed like a coffin lid sealing.

She pressed her forehead against the damp wall, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mind screamed but no words came. Only questions, only terror.

ye konsi jagah hai? Ham yaha kyu hai? Vo kya karenge? Kya ham fir kabhi aasmaan dekh payenge?'

(What is this place? Why am I here? What will they do? Will I ever see the sky again?)

Tears slid silently down her face, soaking the dirty fabric of her shawl. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Her body curled tighter, smaller, until she was nothing more than a trembling shadow in the corner.

And somewhere above, the world moved on—the sun still shone, the sky still stretched wide, but she was buried deep under rubble and rot, a nameless girl trapped in the dark.