A sliver of moonlight crept through the cracked window, casting long shadows that swallowed the room whole. They stretched across the damp walls like clawed fingers.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, each drop echoing in the suffocating silence. The air was stale, thick with the scent of mold and neglect.
In the corner, an eight-year-old girl sat curled beside a worn-out bed, hugging her knees. The mattress beneath her was barely more than a pile of rags offering no warmth, no comfort. Her small hands trembled as she clutched her legs tighter, trying to disappear into herself. Fear wrapped around her like chains cold, heavy, and unrelenting.
The room was silent. Too silent.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound shattered the stillness. The door stayed shut, but the knocking continued—slow, deliberate, each strike louder than the last.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She knew that knock.
Then, a subtle sound came from outside the door.
"Hina... Hina, open the door."
A low, slurred voice called out.
"I said open the door, or I'll kill you."
It was her father. Drunk again.
His voice grew louder and more aggressive.
"I SAID OPEN THE DOOR!"
Hina flinched. Her small body shook as she slowly stood up, her legs weak beneath her.
She didn't want to move. Didn't want to listen. But fear pulled her toward the door.
Her hand hovered near the lock.
"HINA!"
The shout made her jump. Trembling, she unlocked the door.
The moment she tried to open it—
Bang!
Her father shoved the door with brutal force.
The edge slammed into her face.
She hit the ground hard.
Blood spilled from her nose and lip as she lay on the cold floor, dazed.
Her father stumbled into the room, barely able to stand straight. He reeked of alcohol, swaying as he loomed over her small body.
Hina lay on the floor, blood dripping from her nose and mouth. Her tears mixed with the red.
He stared at her—but there was no pity in his eyes. No concern. Just anger.
Without a word, he grabbed her by the hair—tight—from the back.
"Ah—!" she whimpered, trying to stop him, her small hands pushing weakly against his arm. But she couldn't stop him.
He yanked her up by the hair.
The pain shot through her scalp, down her spine. She could see the ceiling spinning above her as he dragged her.
"Please… Father," she cried.
"I didn't do anything. Please don't beat me… Please…"
He didn't listen.
With one final pull, he threw her into the hallway.
She hit the floor hard. Her knees scraped against the cold tiles. The pain throbbed but worse than the pain was the fear.
Hina slowly turned her head, fear written all over her face.
Her father stood there, eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of alcohol. With a wobble, he reached down and pulled off his belt.
"No…" she whispered, backing away.
"Father, please… don't hit me. I didn't do anything…"
But he didn't listen.
"You never listen!" he shouted. "I'll beat you so hard, you'll never forget it your entire life!"
Hina didn't resist. She knew it was useless.
His anger wasn't really for her.
Today, like every day, he had worked in a small factory as a laborer. His boss yelled at him again—called him useless, said he couldn't even do the simplest job right. He didn't argue back. He never did. Just swallowed the words and kept his head down.
After the shift ended, he collected his daily pay—500 rupees.
And like always, he went straight to the bar.
Drink after drink, the bitterness festered.
"That bastard boss… What does he think he is?" he muttered to himself. "If I stop working, that whole factory will shut down. One day, I'll show him. I'll be the boss. I'll make him beg me."
Drunk and furious, he stumbled back home. He couldn't hurt his boss—so he hurt his daughter instead.
He spent all the money on alcohol. Never saved a rupee. Never brought food home.
Hina and her mother went hungry. Every day.
Now, standing above her, he raised the belt.
Crack!
The leather lashed across her back.
She screamed as pain exploded through her.
Another hit. Then another.
The sharp edge of the belt left red welts, one shaped like the belt's buckle.
She curled into a ball, sobbing silently.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Hina broke down in tears, crawling to her father and clutching his leg.
"Father, please," she cried, her voice trembling. "It hurts... I'll do whatever you say, just please don't beat me anymore."
But he didn't care.
Drunk and blind with rage, he shoved her away with a hard kick. She fell back onto the floor, her small frame collapsing like a rag doll.
"You useless girl!" he roared. "How many times do I have to tell you—when I beat you, stay quiet! Don't talk back!"
He glared at her, then tossed the belt aside. His eyes searched the room—until they landed on a thick wooden stick in the corner.
Hina's breath caught.
"I guess the belt wasn't enough," he growled. "This time, you'll learn your lesson."
He raised the stick high above his head.
But just as he brought it down—
Thud.
A figure stepped in between.
The stick struck her mother's back with a sickening sound.
She didn't flinch. She didn't scream. She just stood there, arms around her daughter.
Blood slowly trickled from her back.
Hina opened her eyes in shock. Her father's hand was still raised, but her mother had taken the blow instead.
"Mother…" she whispered, tears falling again.
Her mother didn't speak. She just held her tightly, shielding her.
Because if she screamed… if she reacted…
Her husband would only hit harder.
So she stayed silent.
To protect the only thing she had left.
He looked down at them—his wife shielding their daughter—and spat out his words with drunken rage.
"In this house," he growled, voice slurred and shaky, "only what I say happens. If you ever disobey me again… I'll kill you both."
His wife, still trembling, lifted her head and begged softly, "Please… she's just a child. Don't hurt her. Take it out on me instead… but leave her alone."
Without a word, he kicked her hard in the back.
Both mother and daughter collapsed to the floor, pain rippling through their bodies.
He muttered something under his breath—words soaked in alcohol that no one could understand—then staggered away, barely able to walk straight.
The door creaked as he disappeared into his room, leaving only silence… and fear.
After a few seconds, her mother gently helped her stand. Hina was still crying, her small body trembling. Her mother wiped the tears from her cheeks and softly whispered, "Nothing will happen to you. I'm here, honey. Don't worry… I'm always with you."
She lifted Hina into her arms and carried her, holding her close.
Inside the small room, she laid Hina carefully onto the bed, tucking her in with gentle hands. "Don't worry," she said again, brushing the girl's hair from her face. "Just sleep now."
Hina clutched her mother's sleeve, her voice shaking. "Mother… stay with me. Don't go. Please don't leave me alone. I'm scared… of the dark."
Her mother smiled faintly through her own pain. "Don't cry. You're a good girl. And good girls don't cry, right? I won't leave. I'm right here."
She sat beside her, humming a soft lullaby as she stroked Hina's head. Slowly, the child's eyes began to close.
When she finally fell asleep, her mother stood up quietly, watching her for a long moment. Then, with a heavy heart, she stepped outside and gently closed the door behind her.
Midnight.
Her stomach growled with hunger, waking her from a restless sleep. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The room was cold and dark. She looked around, hoping to find something—anything—to eat, but there was nothing.
Thirsty, she walked over to the corner and drank some water, trying to calm the gnawing pain in her belly. As she finished drinking, a faint sound reached her ears.
A noise.
Coming from outside the room.
The house was dark. No lights. No voices. Only that sound—soft but strange.
She stood up, barefoot on the cold floor, and tiptoed to the door. Her small hand reached for the handle. As she got closer, her heart began to race.
She recognized the sound now.
It was her mother.
Her voice was low and shaky, almost like crying or whispering in pain.
She thought—Father must be hurting her again.
Determined to help, she tried to open the door.
But it was locked.
From the outside.
She tried again to push the door, but it still wouldn't open. Tears fell from her eyes as she cried silently. She was weak and couldn't shout, but she still tried to call out. her voice barely a whisper.
She tried again and again. After a few minutes, the lock on the outside slowly shifted—then, with a faint click, it opened. The door creaked as it slowly swung open.