[CLICK. CLICK. CLICK] The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall — almost soundless against the polished marble.
A faint breeze followed Maya in through the tall wooden doors. A few loose strands of her dark hair swayed gently across her face.
The late morning light spilled in behind her, briefly outlining her small figure in gold.
Servants standing along the walls immediately straightened. Their hands folded . "Welcome back, Miss."
She acknowledged them with a polite nod.
Mahi was crossing the hall. She had been on her way to the study, a folder of documents tucked beneath one arm, her mind already half-occupied with the day's matters.
But the moment she saw Maya, the small figure walking quietly across the vast marble floor — her steps slowed. Then stopped entirely.
"So... your tour of the estate is over?"
Maya stopped, her dark eyes met Mahi's. "Yes, Mrs. Sunayana."
The title landed softly but Mahi felt it all the same — a small, precise weight pressed against her chest.
Still, she smiled. " I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost."
"I didn't."
"You covered a great deal of ground, then. The estate is nearly forty acres."
"I know."
"You know? How??"
"I counted the paths."
Mahi blinked — slowly, deliberately — as though replaying the words to make sure she had heard them correctly. "You... counted the paths."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It seemed useful, knowing where I am is important."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Mahi studied her daughter.
"Good. This is your home now, Maya. "
"...Thank you, Mrs. Sunayana. " She inclined her head politely — the same measured gesture — and she turned to leave once more.
Mahi watched her go.
The girl's footsteps were light against the marble. Barely there. Like she was always half a thought away from disappearing.
Mahi's hands tightened at her sides.
Fourteen years. Fourteen years of searching and now she walks through my home like a guest who is already planning her exit.
She said nothing. Because she had learned, over fourteen long years, that some things could not be forced.
And as Maya's figure vanished around the corner of the corridor, Mahi closed her eyes for one quiet moment.
Patience, she reminded herself. She is here. That is enough. For now — that is enough.
Then she straightened. Smoothed the edge of her sari. Lifted her chin and walked back toward the study.
----
The brass lamp on the desk cast a circle of light across the polished wood — but the man seated within it had not moved in some time.
Before him rested the cup of tea Butler Saad had brought nearly half an hour ago. It had long since gone cold. The steam had faded. The surface had stilled.
His gray eyes were fixed on the middle distance, on nothing in particular. His fingers were loosely interlaced on the desk.
The General was thinking . The kind that circled the same handful of questions, again and again, without ever finding rest.
Who poisoned her food? How many times?
Why didn't she tell anyone?
Maya had answered him with a calm that had unsettled him more than any confession could have.
"The past is already written. There is no erasing it. So why waste energy on something that cannot be altered?"
Fifteen years old. And she spoke like a soldier who had already buried too many friends.
[KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.] His eyes opened.
"Enter."
The door swung open with a quiet, well-oiled smoothness. Butler Saad stepped inside, his gloved hands folded before him.
In his right hand he carried a dark leather file, thick with papers, bound with a single black cord.
He closed the door behind him without a sound.
He crossed the room in unhurried steps and stopped at a respectful distance from the desk.
"Sir."
"Mr. Saad."
"You have it."
"I do, sir."
He placed the file on the desk, aligning it carefully with the edge of the blotter before stepping back. Then he stood, hands folded, waiting.
Mahim's gaze dropped to it, "How much?"
"I have gone considerably deeper than your original instructions. I hope you will forgive the excess."
"You may continue." He reached for the file. His fingers rested on the cover for a moment before he opened it.
Page after page of information. He turned the pages slowly — one by one, reading every line.
Saad watched him in silence.
Then Mahim stopped. His eyes lingered on a particular page. His brow drew in — almost imperceptibly.
"Mr. Saad."
"Sir."
"There are gaps here."
"Yes, sir."
Mahim looked up. "Explain."
"Miss Maya's records as far as the ordinary world is concerned, are clean and unremarkable.
She was registered at a small orphanage in the eastern district. She attended public school on a scholarship. She held a single part-time position at the village library for over a year.
Her academic results are consistently excellent."
I conducted this investigation personally. "
"And?"
"And there are inconsistencies."
Mahim's fingers stilled against the page. "Continue."
"Certain periods of Miss Maya's life are... blank. The records exist but they contain no substance. No names of guardians. "
He paused.
"It is as though, for certain stretches of time, Miss Maya didn't exist on paper and yet the paperwork insists that she did."
Mahim's gray eyes narrowed slightly. "An administrative error?"
Saad hesitated — only for a fraction of a second — before answering.
"That was my conclusion, sir. System errors. Filing mistakes. It happens, even in well-run institutions."
Mahim leaned back in his chair. His expression did not change but something behind his eyes shifted — "Mr. Saad."
"Yes, Sir."
"I suspected that girl was hiding something. The moment she sat in this room — the moment she spoke — I knew."
"Yes, sir. That was my impression as well."
Mahim nodded slowly.
Saad allowed himself the faintest trace of a smile — He had known this man for over twenty years. He knew exactly what he was being asked.
"Sir, I have already verified the DNA. I submitted samples to ten separate hospitals, sir. Different laboratories. Different cities. Different systems.
If even one of them had produced a result that differed from the others, I would have informed you immediately."
"And?"
Saad's voice did not waver.
"All ten results confirmed the same conclusion. The probability of biological maternity between Madam Mahi, You and Miss is 99.99 percent.
She is your daughter, sir. Beyond any reasonable doubt — and beyond any unreasonable doubt as well."
Mahim exhaled slowly.
Something in his shoulders a tension he had not realized he had been carrying, eased just slightly.
"Good, that is good."
"I would not have brought you this file, if I had even the smallest suspicion that she was an imposter. Whoever she is, she is a Sunayana
by blood. That much is certain."
Mahim nodded. He closed the file and set it aside. Then he looked at Saad.
"I want more information. I want to know who had access to her when she was a child. Who signed her papers. "
His voice grew quieter — and somehow, more dangerous.
"Someone tried to erase my daughter from the world. Someone did it so thoroughly that even I could not find her for fourteen years. "
Saad's expression did not change, something in his posture sharpened,a soldier receiving orders.
"Yes, sir."
"Find out who."
"Yes, sir."
"That is all for now. Continue your investigation. Use whatever resources you need. "
"Understood, sir."
Butler turned to leave, hand already on the door —Then, Mahim spoke again. "One more thing."
"Sir? "
"On your way out — call Fahad. Tell him I want to see him."
Butler Saad inclined his head, one gloved hand settling briefly over his chest. "At once, sir."
The door opened. The reading room returned to its silence. General Mahim leaned back in his chair. His hand rose slowly, his fingers pressing against his forehead.
[AFTER FIVE MINUTES ]
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Mahim did not look up from the papers scattered across his desk. "Enter."
The door swung open with a quiet, well-oiled smoothness. Fahad stepped inside.
He was dressed in a dark charcoal suit, sleeves folded to the forearm, jacket open, tie loosened just slightly — the only concession he allowed himself when at home.
He closed the door behind him. Then he crossed the room in long, unhurried strides and stopped at a respectful distance from the desk.
"Father. You called for me?"
Mahim gestured once — a small motion of his hand toward the chair opposite him. "Yes. Sit down."
Fahad's gaze flicked — just for a fraction of a second — to the file on the desk. Then to his father's face.
Something about Mahim's stillness made him pause. He had seen his father in many moods.
But there was a particular silence that settled over General Mahim when he was not simply thinking — but deciding.
Fahad pulled the chair back and sat.
"You have work today."
"I do. Several matters require my attention at the office."
"Good."
A moment later, the door opened again. Butler Saad entered —
Gloved hands carrying a silver tray. On it sat two cups of tea, steam curling upward in thin, a small porcelain pot. A tiny bowl of sugar cubes.
He placed the tray between them on the desk, and stepped back. "Sir. Master Fahad."
Mahim gave a small nod. Butler Saad bowed and slipped out as quietly as he had come. The door clicked shut.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Fahad reached for his cup. Mahim did the same. They drank in silence. The tea was strong, the way they both took it. A shared habit neither of them had ever discussed.
It had simply happened, over the years, the way shared habits do between two people who rarely say more than they need to.
Fahad set the cup down first. "What's the work, Father?"
Mahim turned his cup once. A half-circle against the saucer. Then he set it down."You are going to take your sister out."
Silence.
Fahad's hand — still resting lightly on the cup's handle went completely still.
His gray eyes, the same gray eyes that unsettled boardrooms widened by the smallest fraction. He looked up. "...I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me."
Fahad blinked — slowly, once as if resetting his own mind.
"I don't go anywhere, unless it is the company.
I work. I come home. I work again. That is my routine. Father. "
"I am aware of your routine.The point is that your sister needs to leave this house. She needs to see something other than these walls."
"Then why—"
"Because I am asking you to do something outside of it."
Fahad leaned back in his chair, "Ask someone else."
Mahim arched a single brow. "Someone else. Who exactly would you suggest I ask?"
Fahad opened his mouth — then stopped.
Mahim tilted his head slightly. "Should I ask Fahim?
Do you imagine Maya would enjoy a tour of his laboratory? His specimen jars? His collection of medical journals on childhood trauma?
The girl has been in this house for less than one day and you wish to hand her over to a man who reads autopsy reports at the dinner table?"
A pause.
"Have you seen what is in that room? She would take one look at his specimens and run for the hills."
Fahad exhaled slowly. "...That is a fair point.Then what about Faha and Fahish?"
"Be honest, Do you honestly believe I would entrust my daughter to Faha and Fahish?
Those two cannot even manage themselves. They have no sense of time and no sense of direction. You saw them this morning.
They called her a fairy and then ran screaming down the corridor."
Fahad did not argue. He couldn't argue. He had seen it himself. Mahim continued, unbothered.
"Fahan will take her to see some machine he is building and forget she exists for hours. "
Fahad's lips twitched, "I would not put it past them."
"And you would have me entrust my daughter — who has been with us less then one day — to the care of those two?"
"You have thought about this."
"I have."
"You have thought about it more than once."
Fahad lowered his eyes. He reached for his tea and drank — slower this time. "Why me?"
"Because you are the only one in this house she will not be able to read."
Fahad frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means that she can read people quickly. She spent her childhood among people she could not trust, so she learned to study them."
He paused.
"Fahim wears his mind on his face. Fahan wears his heart on his sleeve. Faha performs everything he feels. Fahish observes but he also shows that he is observing. She will notice all of it."
Fahad said nothing.
"She will not be able to read you because you do not show anything. You never have, not since you were a child."
Fahad looked away. "That is not a compliment."
"It was not offered as one."
Fahad looked at his father and for the first time in many years — he saw something in his father's face that he had not seen before.
FEAR.
The fear of a man who had spent fourteen years searching, who had finally found what he was looking for.
And who now understood — with terrible clarity that finding her was not the same as keeping her.
"All right. I'll take her out."
Mahim nodded once. "Good."
"Father."
"Mmmmm."
"She will say no."
Mahim looked up at him.
"She doesn't know me. She has no reason to go anywhere with me. How do you expect me to convince her?"
He frowned. "Then how—"
"Just make her say no to your face."
Fahad let out a small breath, barely a sigh. "That is a very general-like thing to say."
"I am a general."
Fahad shook his head faintly.
"Fahad."
"Yes?"
"You are worried she will refuse."
Fahad's jaw tightened — a small, almost invisible movement. "...Yes."
Mahim set his cup down. His voice was calm, "She will not refuse."
Fahad blinked. "You sound very sure of that."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because I noticed something about her. She obeys."
Fahad's brow furrowed. "Obeys?"
"Watch her — really watch her. And you will see it. When I asked her questions, she answered. When I told her to leave, she left.
Each time, she complied. Every instruction was carried out exactly as given. "
"That could just be politeness."
"No." Mahim's voice sharpened — just slightly.
"Politeness hesitates — wonders whether it should comply or not. She does not wonder.
She complies cleanly and without argument."
The room went very still.
Fahad's expression did not change — his voice carrying that same careful, measured tone.
"But Father — I should say this clearly. I don't really go anywhere except the company. That's my routine. You know that better than anyone."
Mahim picked up his cup again. He didn't look at his son. "Then take her there."
"You want me to take Maya to a corporate office."
Mahim took a slow sip of his cold tea. " Yes, And
I know you will not waste the day taking her to a shopping mall or a cinema."
Fahad opened his mouth to object, then closed it. His father had, annoyingly, made a point.
"Fine—"
Mahim set the cup down. The soft click cut through the air between them.
"Fahad. From the moment you leave this house with her, one thing must be clear. Whatever she wants — she gets."
A pause.
"If she wants to sit in the car and come straight back, you bring her back. If she wants to stop somewhere on the way, you stop.
If she wants to spend three hours staring at a wall, you will stand beside her and stare at that wall. You will be patient with her."
"Yes, Father."
"You will not lose your temper. You will not raise your voice,you will not sigh or check your phone."
Fahad said nothing. He knew better than to interrupt when his father was building toward something.
"You will not treat her like a task to be completed. And you will not — under any circumstances — treat her like a child who does not know what she is talking about.
And if I ever find out — from her, from a servant, from anyone — that you so much as raised your voice at her or tried to correct her.
Made her feel small or you made her feel unwelcome or unwanted —"
He leaned forward slightly. His voice dropped.
"— then you will find out exactly what kind of man your father becomes when his daughter is hurt."
Silence.
Fahad stood very still.
This was not the first time his father had given him a warning. It was, however, the first time Fahad had believed one completely.
"Understood."
"Good."
Fahad turned toward the door. "Father."
"Mm."
"I have an urgent matter at the company. This afternoon. Just some paperwork that can't wait until Monday. I'll take her."
He pulled the door open and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
The reading room settled into silence again. Mahim sat alone — and for the first time all morning, his shoulders eased.
SHE OBEYS. The words sat in his chest like a stone. He had spent years searching for a daughter who would run into his arms.
But He found a daughter who would stand still until he told her not to. He picked up his cup. It was cold, he drank it anyway.
Fahad closed the door behind him, for a moment, he simply stood there. The corridor stretched before him, he exhaled slowly through his nose.
Take your sister out.Whatever she wants — she gets.
The words replayed themselves in his mind. He pressed two fingers to his temple. "Wonderful, truly wonderful."
He checked his watch. ELEVEN FORTY-ONE. The morning was already mostly gone. And he had a sister to entertain.
He started walking toward the staff wing. A pair of maids carrying folded linens stepped aside and bowed as he passed.
Near the service corridor he found her — Anjali, arranging fresh flowers into a vase on a side table. She straightened the moment she saw him. "Master Fahad."
"Anjali." He stopped a respectful distance away. "Do you know where Miss Maya is?"
Anjali set the last stem carefully into the vase before answering. "Yes, sir. She is in the library."
"The library !!"
"Yes, sir. She has been there for some time now."
"Alone?"
"As far as I know, sir. I passed by about half an hour ago, she was the only one inside."
"I see. Thank you."
Anjali bowed her head slightly. "Of course, sir."