The night deepened, clouds rolling heavy above the mansion, their bellies swollen with rain. The garden had grown quiet, save for the rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Maya sat among them, her knees folded, her sketchbook balanced loosely against her lap. She had been silent for hours, her brothers standing nearby like sentinels—watching, waiting, unable to step away.
It should have been peaceful.
And then—
Thunder.
A jagged crack tore the sky open, loud enough to rattle the windows of the mansion and send the birds wheeling in frantic arcs overhead.
Maya's head snapped up.
Her body stiffened as though lightning had struck her spine. Her breath came shallow, clipped, uneven. The sketchbook slipped from her lap, pages flapping against the wet grass.
She rose to her feet too quickly, unsteady, then dropped to her knees again, palms pressed into the soil as if trying to anchor herself to the earth.
Her lips moved. Words tumbled out in broken whispers.
"I never dared to run away… Please don't… Forgive him… Don't… Please don't…"
The phrase repeated. Again. And again. Her voice cracked, splintered, carrying the weight of something no child should know.
Her brothers froze where they stood. Fahad's hands twitched toward her, but something in her posture—wild, defensive, fragile—kept him rooted in place.
A servant, who had been hurrying across the veranda, saw her collapse and bolted inside, shouting breathlessly: "It's Maya—something's wrong!"
The family rushed out in a storm of footsteps. Mahim's sharp commands cut through the air, Mahi's cries followed, and the younger brothers trailed in wide-eyed silence.
And what they saw—
No one could unsee.
Maya's body shook violently, each tremor tearing through her small frame like waves breaking over fragile stone. Her fingers clawed at the grass, pulling fistfuls of damp soil as though she were drowning and the earth was the only thing she could grip. Her breath came ragged, every inhale a battle, every exhale a collapse.
Mahi dropped to her knees beside her, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Maya! Maya, sweetheart, it's me—it's your mother—"
But the moment her hand brushed against Maya's shoulder, the girl recoiled with startling force.
"Please don't hit me!" she screamed. Her voice was raw, unguarded, primal—like a wound ripped open.
Mahi froze, her hand trembling in the air. Her heart clenched painfully, eyes burning with the kind of helplessness only a mother could know.
Mahim stood behind her, his jaw set, his fists tightening and loosening by his sides. He had built an empire, commanded men with fear and respect, crushed rivals with a single word. Yet in this moment, before his daughter's breaking body, he was powerless.
The brothers exchanged glances, each face pale. Fahad's composure cracked, a tremor running through his usually rigid posture. Fahan bit his lip until blood welled. Even the twins, Faha and Fahish—usually so brash, so unshaken—stood utterly still, as if their very souls had been struck silent.
And then—
Maya collapsed fully.
Her body went limp, falling sideways onto the wet grass.
Anik moved first.
He surged forward, faster than anyone else, catching her before her head could strike the ground. His arms slid beneath her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. He pressed her close, his heart pounding, the scent of rain and earth clinging to her hair.
"Open the doors!" he barked, his voice harsh, commanding. "Now!"
Servants scrambled, flinging the wide oak doors of the mansion open. Anik carried her inside with long, unrelenting strides, his grip unyielding, his jaw tight.
Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow, lips pale. Each step echoed like a war drum through the marble halls.
Mahi hurried after them, sobbing. "Call the doctor—now! Hurry!"
The house became a flurry of movement. Blankets were fetched. Lights blazed. Doors slammed. Within minutes, the family doctor arrived, his leather bag clutched tightly in one hand, spectacles slipping down his nose as he rushed upstairs.
Anik laid Maya gently on her bed, his arms reluctant to release her even for a second.
The doctor bent low, checking her pulse, his stethoscope pressed against her fragile chest. He frowned, listening longer than usual, his silence making the room heavier with each passing moment.
Finally, he straightened, pulling the instrument from his ears. His face was grave.
"She didn't just faint," he said quietly, but his words carried through the hushed room. "This girl… she has just endured three panic attacks in less than five minutes. Her body—" he paused, glancing at Mahi, then at Mahim, "—her body is holding something unimaginable. Something no child should carry."
Mahi pressed a trembling hand to her lips, tears streaming freely now. Mahim closed his eyes, the muscle in his jaw twitching as though he were holding back something violent.
"She is only fifteen," the doctor continued, his voice heavy. "But this… this is not the body of an untouched child. Whoever has done this to her…" His words faltered, the weight of them almost too much to speak. "…they are a monster."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
No one breathed.
No one moved.
Even the thunder outside seemed to hush itself, waiting.
And then—
They saw it.
Not scars. Not bruises. Not the physical evidence that might scream louder than words.
It was her face.
Her face that did not move. Did not break. Did not blink.
Emotionless. Detached. As if she had sealed herself inside an invisible wall where no pain, no comfort, no love could touch her.
The face of someone who had learned to survive by erasing expression itself.
Mahi sobbed harder, reaching for her daughter again, but Mahim caught her wrist gently, shaking his head. His own eyes glistened though his voice remained steel. "Not now. She will not let us touch her. Not yet."
The brothers stood like statues, their hearts roaring but their mouths silent. They had never felt fear like this—not the fear of death, or battle, or loss of power. But the fear of losing her.
And Maya…
Maya lay there, her breaths shallow, her eyes half-closed but dry. She did not fight. She did not cling. She did not beg.
She simply… existed.
A quiet, shattering storm.
And for the first time, her family understood: whatever had broken her had not happened tonight. It had happened long ago.
And it was still breaking her.
The doctor's words lingered in the room like poison. "She is only fifteen. Whoever has done this… they are a monster."
His voice broke the air, but what truly silenced the house was Maya's silance.
It didn't change. Not a flicker. Not fear. Not relief. Not anger. Not even pain.
Her eyes past them all, not at the ceiling, not at the walls—beyond. As if she were trapped in a place they couldn't reach. A prison carved out of memory.
Mahim's knuckles turned white as he gripped the back of a chair. His voice was low, iron forced into syllables. "Doctor. Tell me the truth. How long has she been… like this?"
The doctor hesitated, choosing words carefully. "A long time. Panic attacks of this scale don't appear overnight. Her body… it remembers. Even if her mouth stays silent."
Mahi's hand flew to her chest. She sobbed quietly, rocking slightly, as though trying to cradle a baby that wasn't in her arms anymore. "My daughter… my child… what did she endure out there?"
"Mahi—" Mahim's voice cracked. He reached for her, but she pulled away, her tears drowning him out.
Fahad stepped forward, his usual composure shattered. "This isn't right. She's here now. With us. We'll protect her. Whoever—whatever—hurt her, we'll—" He stopped himself, throat tight. His fists clenched, veins throbbing. "We'll burn the world down if we must."
Fahan's voice cut in, sharp, angry. "But how? She won't speak. She won't tell us. She locks it all inside and we stand here—blind. What use is our power if she won't let us in?"
"Enough," Mahim said, voice heavy. His gaze cut to Fahan, cold and warning. But the bitterness in his son's tone had already sunk like acid into the room.
Farhan—still pale from his earlier outburst—sat heavily on a chair in the corner, head in his hands. His voice was muffled but raw. "She thought I was going to hit her. When I touched her. She looked at me like… like I was the one. Like I was—" His words broke off into a ragged breath.
"Farhan, no." Mahi moved toward him, pulling him against her chest like she had when he was a boy. He didn't resist. His broad shoulders shook under her hands. "She wasn't seeing you. She was seeing someone else. Whoever did this… she still lives in their shadow."
The room shivered in silence.
Anik had not moved.
He sat beside the bed, close enough that Maya's hand almost brushed his sleeve. His eyes never left her face. He didn't blink. Not once.
The stillness in her, the refusal of expression—it terrified the others. But to Anik, it was a riddle he needed to solve.
He leaned closer, voice low, controlled. "Maya…"
She didn't stir.
"I'll find him," Anik said, though it wasn't clear if he was speaking to her or to himself. "Whoever touched you. Whoever scarred you. I'll tear him apart with my own hands."
Fahad shot him a look. "This isn't the time for—"
"No," Anik interrupted, eyes narrowing, his voice like a blade. "This is the only time. You don't understand. She doesn't need pity. She doesn't need tears. She needs justice. She needs someone who won't stop until he's dead."
The words landed hard.
Mahim's stare pinned him. Cold. Assessing. But Anik didn't flinch. His jaw stayed locked, his hands tight on the edge of the mattress.
Mahi's sobbing filled the silence again, softer this time. She pressed her lips to her daughter's hair, though Maya did not react.
"She deserves peace," Mahi whispered. "Not blood."
But Anik disagreed. He didn't say it aloud, but the fire in his chest roared. He didn't want to give her peace. He wanted to own her silence. To drag it out of her. To know every shadow she carried, no matter the cost.
The thunder rumbled again outside, shaking the glass. Rain streaked down the windows in crooked lines. The storm had not passed. It had only just begun.
The servent the family and the doctor are still there. He spoke slowly, his words deliberate. "No one speaks of this outside these walls. Not a word. Not to the staff. Not to the neighbors. Not to anyone. Do you understand?"
The brothers nodded, their faces grave.
Mahim's voice dropped lower. "And no one pressures her. No questions. No force. When she is ready, she will speak. Until then… we wait."
But the storm of thoughts inside each of them could not be silenced.
Fahad's oath of vengeance. Fahan's bitterness. Farhan's guilt. Mahi's tears. Mahim's quiet rage. And Anik's obsession.
Each emotion braided itself into the silence, weaving a noose that tightened around the house.
night, long after the doctor examine , the family lingered inside Maya's room. The lamp by her bed cast a dim golden glow, illuminating her face. Still expressionless. Still unreadable.
Fahad whispered, almost to himself, "How can she look like that? After all this. Like nothing touches her."
Mahi shook her head. "No. Not nothing. Everything. She feels too much. That's why her face is still. It's the only way she lives."
Because deep down, they all feared the same thing:
The face that didn't blink was not just a shield.
It was a warning.
And if it ever cracke
The storm would devour them.