Knock. Knock. Knock.
Open the damn door, or I swear to God, I'll kill you.
In the corner room, an eight-year-old girl sat curled beside a worn-out bed, hugging her knees. Her small hands trembled as she clutched her legs tighter, trying to disappear into herself.
The house was too quiet. No wind. No voices. Just the slow, steady drip... drip... drip of water from the ceiling.
Then again
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Hina… open the door. A voice slurred on the other side.
She backed away, heart pounding. She knew that voice. Knew the stench that came with it. Knew what was about to happen. She stood up and moved to the door. With shaking hands, she unlocked it.
Suddenly
BANG!
The door crashed open, slamming into her face. She hit the ground hard. Blood spilled from her nose. Her vision blurred, but she could still see him clearly.
Her father.
Drunk. Again.
You don't listen to me, huh? Then I'll show you what happens when you don't listen!
He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up.
Pain shot down her spine. Her feet scrambled helplessly. She didn't even scream just whimpered.
Please… Dad, she gasped. "I didn't do anything. Please…
He didn't care.
He dragged her down the hallway and flung her like garbage. She hit the floor with a thud—knees scraped, breath knocked out of her.
She looked up, trembling.
Then he took out his belt. firm, worn and gripped it tight in his hand, eyes bloodshot and reeking of alcohol.
No… please… she whispered, crawling back.
He raised the belt. His voice exploded.
You never listen! I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!
Dad, please
CRACK!
The belt landed across her back.
She didn't scream. Just cried in silence, hoping it would stop.
It didn't.
Another strike. Then another.
She never fought back. What was the point?
His rage had nothing to do with her. It came from somewhere else. Somewhere above him.
That morning, like always, he worked at the factory lifting, sweating, breaking his back for scraps. His boss shouted. Called him useless. Spat words like knives. He stayed silent. Swallowed it all. Like always.
When the day ended, he collected his 500 rupees and went straight to the bar.
One drink. Then another. The bitterness grew louder.
That bastard... thinks he's better than me, he slurred. "One day, he'll beg me for work…"
But he never went after his boss.
He came home instead.
And made his daughter his punching bag.
He never brought food. Never saved a single rupee. Every coin drowned in liquor.
Hina and her mother starved. Every. Single. Day.
Then he reached for something worse.
A wooden stick.
She curled tighter, waiting for the pain.
Thud.
It never came.
Her mother stood between them, arms wrapped around Hina.
The stick struck her instead.
Her mother didn't scream. She just held Hina tight, shielding her small body with her own.
Because she knew the moment she screamed, the beatings would only get worse.
So she stayed silent. Trembling. Bleeding. But unbroken.
For her daughter.
He loomed over them drunk, swaying eyes full of something uglier than hate.
In this house, he slurred, I make the rules. Disobey me again… and I'll kill you both."
His wife raised her head. Her voice barely a whisper. Please… she's just a child. Hit me if you want. But don't touch her.
He didn't answer.
He kicked her. Hard.
They both collapsed. A single thud. A shared pain. Then silence.
He mumbled nonsense, staggered back into his room, and slammed the door.
The fear stayed behind.
A few moments passed before her mother moved. She lifted Hina gently, wincing with each motion.
It's okay, she whispered, wiping the blood from Hina's nose. I'm here. I've got you.
She laid her daughter on the bed, tucked her in like nothing had happened. Brushed her hair back with shaking fingers.
"Sleep now, sweet girl. I'll stay. I won't leave."
Hina grabbed her sleeve, whispering through tears. "Don't go. The dark… I hate the dark."
Her mother forced a smile. "You're strong. But even strong girls need their moms, right? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
She sat beside her, humming a lullaby that barely held its tune.
And slowly… Hina drifted into sleep.
Her mother watched her for a long time.
Then she stood, quietly opened the door, and stepped out.
Leaving behind the only light left in her world.
Later that night
Hunger woke Hina. She reached for water, her stomach growling.
That's when she heard it. A sound from beyond the door. Soft. Wrong.
Her mother's voice. Muffled. In pain.
Hina rushed to the door.
Locked.
From the outside.
She banged. Whispered. Begged.
Mother…? she whispered. "Are you there?
No reply.
She pulled. Pushed. Hit the door with her tiny fists, crying without sound.
Then—a faint click.
The lock turned.
The door creaked open.
Through the crack, she saw something she couldn't fully understand but deep down, she knew it was meant for her. She would never forget it.
She quietly closed the door and sank beside it, her heart pounding. Her mind spun, replaying the moment over and over. Tears welled in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand, afraid someone might hear her.
Silently, she stood up, walked to her bed, and lay down. As sleep crept in, silent tears traced her cheeks.
The Next Morning
When Hina woke and opened her eyes, her mother was there, cleaning the room.
Sweetheart, you're awake. Go wash your face. Your father brought breakfast for you, okay honey? Her mother smiled gently.
Before leaving, she added, I'm waiting at the table. Wash up quickly.
The bathroom was worn-down, its mirror cracked and faucet barely working but she washed her face and went to the table.
The dining table was old, its corners broken. She sat down quietly. A moment later, her father joined her.
Good morning, Father, she whispered.
Good morning, he replied.
He wasn't drunk today. That surprised her. But she didn't mention anything about last night. He had a rule: Forget yesterday. Each day is a new one.
Her mother served the food first to her husband, then to Hina.
But Hina didn't touch it.
Her mother frowned with concern. What's wrong, Hina? You're not eating.
She touched Hina's forehead no fever.
You didn't eat yesterday either, her mother said softly. "Why?"
But Hina couldn't answer. Her thoughts were trapped in the shadows of last night.
Hina, are you listening to me? Are you okay?
She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.
Her mother gently took the plate from her and said, I think you'll only eat if I feed you myself, right?
She began feeding her, one bite at a time. Hina ate slowly. As her mother continued, tears slid down her face.
Her mother touched her cheek. Don't cry, my honey. What happened?
Hina didn't answer. She looked down. Her mother didn't press her, only smiled and kept feeding her.
After the meal, Hina quietly returned to her room. She sat on her bed, lost in thought.
In her mind, the memory returned. Her parents… in the hallway. And with them a man she didn't know.
He handed her father a thick stack of cash.
Her father smiled as he counted it, not even glancing at her mother.
The man's hand wrapped around her mother's wrist. He led her into the room.
Her father didn't even look up from the money.