---
The envelope still lay on the floor like a snake ready to strike. Shalu picked it up again, reading it over as if her anger could burn away the words. I wanted to snatch it back, to protect her from the weight I felt pressing on my chest, but it was too late. We all knew now.
"We can't just sit here, Didi," Shalu said, her voice trembling but fierce. "Papa must have left something. He wasn't careless. There must be documents—papers—something to help us."
I wanted to believe her. Papa was the kind of man who tied every bundle neatly, kept every receipt folded in a tin box. But the thought of digging through his things, of smelling his scent on the papers, terrified me.
Still, before dawn the next day, we sat cross-legged on the floor, dragging out his old steel trunk. Bani rubbed her eyes, yawning, but when she saw us working, she knelt too.
Shalu was the first to find it: a thick brown envelope sealed with Papa's neat handwriting. For Lakshmi.
My throat tightened. My fingers shook as I opened it. Inside were documents—property deeds, account books, even a letter sealed separately.
Shalu flipped through the papers quickly. "This is it! See, Didi? Papa wasn't blind. He left things for us."
But as her eyes scanned further, her excitement dimmed. "Wait… these deeds… the shop is mortgaged. Even the house—"
I snatched the papers, reading in disbelief. Collateral. Debts. Repayment dates long past. The hope that had flared in my chest guttered out like a candle in the wind.
"What does it mean?" Bani asked softly, clutching my arm.
"It means," Shalu spat bitterly, "we don't just owe money. We might lose everything if we don't pay."
The sealed letter burned in my hand, but I couldn't open it. Not yet. Not when my sisters' eyes were already drowning in despair.
---
Meanwhile, in Rano aunty's house, gossip spread faster than fire. She had caught a neighbor whispering about the Bajwa sisters' troubles, and by the time she sat with Neha over morning tea, her eyes were glittering.
"Do you know, Neha? Lakshmi's father left debts as tall as the Himalayas. And guess who holds the documents? Lakshmi herself."
Neha tossed her braid over her shoulder. "So? Let her drown in papers. What's that to us?"
Rano slapped her arm lightly. "Foolish girl. Don't you see? When girls like Lakshmi are desperate, they need someone to guide them. That someone could be us. Do you think I'll let all that property slip through our fingers?"
Neha frowned. "Lakshmi is so simple. She doesn't even know her own worth. Everyone compares me to her, and I hate it."
Rano leaned back, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Good. Keep hating her. Because soon, her simplicity will be her downfall—and our ladder."
---
At the Oberoi mansion, breakfast was a lavish affair, silver dishes lined up like soldiers. Yet Rishi barely touched his plate. He scrolled absently on his phone until Malishka snatched it from his hand.
"Enough, Rishi. You're with me, but your mind is somewhere else again." She pouted, though her eyes flashed with annoyance.
"I'm just reading the news," he said.
"News?" she snapped. "Always tragedies and disasters. Why fill your head with sadness when you could fill it with me?"
Ayush nearly choked on his juice, laughing. "Bhai, careful. If you don't look at her properly, Malishka might declare a hunger strike right here at the table."
Malishka shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Rishi tried to cover the awkwardness, placing his hand gently over hers. "You know you matter to me, Malishka. Don't doubt that."
Her face softened instantly, though deep inside, something sharper stirred. She had his attention for now, but she always feared losing it. And that fear made her cling harder.
From the head of the table, Neelam watched with satisfaction. "Malishka, you're perfect for Rishi. You'll keep him balanced."
Virendra, folding his newspaper, muttered, "Balance doesn't come from clinging, Neelam. It comes from trust."
Neelam frowned at him, but said nothing. Rishi caught the tension in his father's words and lowered his gaze, silently grateful for the distraction when Ayush cracked another joke.
---
Back in the dusty shop, I brushed my fingers over Papa's counter, the wood worn smooth by years of his hard work. Shalu paced behind me, clutching the documents.
"We can't hide from this, Didi. These debts won't vanish. We need a plan."
Before I could answer, heavy footsteps echoed outside. Three men in formal clothes entered, their eyes sweeping the shop like predators.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart.
One man smirked. "We're here on behalf of the bank. This property is mortgaged, isn't it? Payment overdue. We're here to take possession."
Shalu stormed forward. "What nonsense! This is our father's shop. You can't just barge in."
The man shrugged, holding up stamped papers. "The law is clear. You have seven days. Until then, we seal the premises."
He pulled out a red tape roll and began stretching it across the doorway. People from the street gathered, murmuring, pointing. My cheeks burned with humiliation.
"No, please—" I reached for the documents Papa left, but the man waved them off. "Collateral or not, rules are rules. Pay or lose it all."
Shalu grabbed his arm, her anger spilling over. "How dare you—"
"Shalu!" I pulled her back, my eyes blurring with tears. Bani, who had followed us quietly, began to cry, clinging to my dupatta.
The men ignored us, sealing the shop shut, their laughter cold. The crowd whispered louder, pitying, judging.
I stood frozen, the documents slipping from my grasp onto the dusty floor. My father's legacy, our last hope, locked away before my eyes.
And as the tape stretched tight across the door, it felt as though my heart had been sealed with it.