9. BEGGING
AAROHI:
The darkness had weight.
It settled over my shoulders, my breath, my mouth. thick, cold, suffocating. The moment the door slammed shut, the sound hit me like the room itself exhaled, swallowing me whole. I rushed toward the door instantly.
"please! please open" My palms hit the wood. Soft at first. Then harder. Then again, as the panic crawled up my throat.
Nothing. No footsteps. No voice. No kindness. Only the echo of my own fear ricocheting around the tiny space. The room smelled of dust and old wood the kind of scent that sank into lungs and made every breath burn.
My fingers traced blindly over boxes stacked on each other, cold metal cans, old fabric, something rough like broken wood. The dark was sharp. Heavy. Too still. "P-please..." My voice cracked. I sank to the floor, my knees hitting the cold cement, the air pinching my skin like tiny needles.
I tried to breathe. Slow. Quiet. Like the doctor had said. But the silence made it worse.
Every small sound in the room was mine, tiny shivers, the soft rasp of my breath, my heartbeat beating too fast beneath my ribs. The fear made my throat tighten until sound barely came out. "Ma..." I whispered, choking on the word. "Maa..."
My hand curled against my chest as if I could hold the ache in place. The cold traveled through my palms, to my arms, up to my shoulders. I hugged myself tightly, trying to keep the shaking from turning violent.
But it didn't stop. Hours felt like days. Maybe I slept. Maybe I didn't. My body slumped sideways at some point, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete, the dust coating my skin.
My breathing hurts. Not like before, This was deeper. More bone-deep. As if the fear had made a home inside my lungs. My fingers tingled. My lips felt dry. Time kept stretching and folding in strange ways.
I tried counting to calm myself. One. Two. Three. But the numbers slipped into nothing. At some point, I whispered his name. Not loud. Not because I wanted him. Because I wanted to escape.
"... p-please..."
Silence answered. And that silence broke something in me, something small, soft, already fragile. By dawn, the cold had seeped into my bones. My joints ached. My throat burned.
My eyes felt raw and swollen. My body trembled so much I wrapped my arms around my legs, pulling myself into the smallest shape possible. I wasn't crying anymore. I think my tears ran out.
All I could do was breathe, uneven, quiet, painful breaths, and wait. The world outside the door began to wake. Footsteps upstairs. Distant voices.
Life. But not for me. Not yet. I pressed my ear against the door. Voices echoed on the other side- muffled, uncertain, scared. Whispers:
"Sir said not to open"
"Until morning, this is morning"
"What if she fainted"
"No one wants to disobey Sir" My breath hitched. They were right there. So close. "P-please," I whispered, barely audible. "I'm... here..." But no one touched the door. More whispers.
"He's awake."
"We should wait."
"If he finds out"
"We should let him decide"
Let him decide. My stomach twisted. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I leaned back weakly, the back of my head touching a damp wall. I pulled my knees closer, swallowing the dryness scratching my throat. My breath shook again.
I wasn't sure how long I sat like that, minutes, hours, seconds, everything blurred. But then, Footsteps. Slow. Firm. Controlled.
Him. Every sound of his approach made the air thicken. The whispers outside vanished.
The staff scattered. My pulse beat sharply in my throat. The lock turned. Metal scraped. The door creaked open, a sliver of light stabbed into the dark room.
Then more. And more. Until his silhouette filled the doorway. Tall. Still. Cold. I blinked hard, my eyes hurting from the sudden light. He stood there. Expression unreadable. Jaw clenched. Eyes steady.
His gaze swept over me once, my trembling hands, my dust-covered clothes, my knees pulled to my chest,my swollen eyes, my dry lips, my exhausted breath. I saw something flicker in his eyes.
Not softness. No regret. Just... calculation. Assessment. He finally spoke.
"Get up." My breath hitched. I tried to move, but my body resisted. My legs felt numb, pins and needles stabbing through them. My head felt heavy, too light at the same time.
My chest tightened with every inhale. I placed my palm on the ground, pushing myself up.
My arm buckled. I dropped back down with a small, painful gasp. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't step inside. He just waited. Impatient. Silent. Expectation hanging like a knife.
I tried again. My fingers trembled. My knees shook. My breath cracked. But I forced myself up, because the alternative scared me more
I staggered, gripping the edge of a wooden shelf to steady myself. He watched me struggle without blinking.
"Come out," he said. My whole body trembled as I took one step. Then another. When I finally reached the doorway, the warmth of the hallway brushed my skin, almost burning after the cold basement.
I didn't see his eyes.
The fear from the night still clung to me like dust. My voice wouldn't come. Only a quiet, shaky breath escaped. He turned, already walking away.
"Follow." And I did. Because I didn't have strength left to do anything else. The corridor felt too bright after the hours in darkness.
Each step sent a tremor up my legs, my body still unsteady, my lungs still tight. He walked ahead of me, silent, composed, as if dragging me out of a basement was routine for him.
When we reached the main hall, he finally stopped.
I kept my eyes lowered, afraid of what his face might hold. He didn't look at me when he spoke. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Your disobedience... didn't just affect you." My breath froze. He turned slightly, enough for his gaze to catch mine, cold, sharp, unreadable.
"It affected your mother." My heart lurched painfully.
"M..."My throat burned. No sound followed. Just choked the air. He continued, stepping closer, lowering his voice so each word hit harder.
"She is in the hospital." My knees nearly buckled. Hospital. The word ripped through me like something jagged.
He watched my reaction, and something almost like satisfaction flickered over his face.
"Because of you," he said. "Your refusal to follow rules. Your... disobedience. It caused this." My breath shattered into small, broken gasps. My vision blurred at the edges.
"N... n-no..." It came out barely audible, more air than voice. He didn't soften.
Not even a fraction.
"If you continue like this, her situation may worsen." The world tilted. I pressed my palm against the wall to steady myself. My fingers felt ice-cold. My throat closed entirely.
"M-Ma..." It came out as the faintest whisper before even that died. He stepped closer.
"Remember," he said, voice low.
"What happened to your mother... depends entirely on how well you obey." Something inside me cracked-quietly, painfully. My voice refused to come out again.
He walked away without another look, as if he had simply delivered a business update. I stood frozen long after he left. No sound left me. Not a word. Not a breath that didn't hurt.
I didn't eat. I didn't drink. The servants watched me from far away, whispering nervously but too afraid to approach.
Every hour his words are replayed, She is in the hospital. Because of you. Your disobedience. Her situation may worsen.
And each time, my voice closed further, until even breathing felt like pushing through locked doors. By evening, my chest ached horribly. My palms were cold.
My lips felt dry, cracked from hours without water. I couldn't sit anymore. Couldn't stay still. I had to try. Even if my voice was gone.
Even if he crushed me for it. My legs trembled as I forced myself down the hall, toward his study. I knew he'd be there.
the only place in the house where the staff didn't dare step. The door was half-open. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled, files scattered, his jaw tight, a man who looked like the whole world irritated him. I swallowed, though my throat felt scraped raw.
My steps were so quiet they didn't even echo. When I reached him, my knees gave out. I sank down in front of him, trembling so violently I had to grip the edge of his desk to stay upright. His pen stopped.
Slowly, he looked down at me. His expression didn't move.
Not a shock. Not guilt. Nothing.
Just impatience. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Air. Only air. I pushed harder. Still nothing. The sound refused to exist. My chest tightened painfully. Tears pooled in my eyes. I tried again, forcing the muscles in my throat, willing the voice to emerge.
"P..." The faintest broken sound escaped. He leaned back in his chair, watching me struggle.
Detached. Unmoved.
I tried again, but my voice collapsed completely. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I shook so hard my hands slipped from the desk. I pointed to my throat. Then pressed my palms together in a pleading gesture. He didn't bend. Didn't soften. Didn't reach.
"So you want to meet your mother," he said, tone flat. I nodded desperately.
"Then speak." His eyes narrowed. "Speak properly. Or get out."
My breath hitched in a painful gasp. I tried. I tried so hard the veins in my throat strained. But nothing came. Nothing.
A small sob escaped, soundless, broken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyed. "The world won't wait for you to form a sentence." My tears hit the floor. He stood slowly. His shadow fell over me.
"Speak," he repeated. "Or leave." The silence that followed felt like it might crush me completely.
I opened my mouth one last time, And nothing. Absolutely nothing. My voice had abandoned me.
And he stood above me... Unmoved. Uncaring. Watching me break at his feet like it meant nothing.