"DHANYA!"

  A sound reached my ears, but not from outside. From just a step away, at my back.

  Spinning fast, I saw Papa fill the doorframe, eyes burning with rage. Behind him, Shwetha shrank back, skin gone ghost white. Her plan had fallen apart. That so-called giant frog? Made no difference at all.

  A shadow stood where the light didn’t reach. His words came slow, each one heavy like wet stone. The air tightened around his anger. Floor planks hummed under the weight of silence.

  "Papa, he was... he was a tourist," I stammered, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. "He was lost. He was looking for the main road."

  Papa kept his eyes fixed on George, motionless by the fence. Not once did he turn my way. There stood George, frozen near the gate. A pause came before Papa spoke. His voice cut through the quiet. “You were speaking with that man,” he said. “Tell me. Did he seem like someone passing through?”

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  Time hung still, heavy and endless. My gaze landed on George, desperate for help. Should he speak up - say Rishi recognized me, mentioned our shared past at school - I’d be trapped, locked away in Punjab forever.

  His eyes moved from mine to the ripped edge of my silk saree, then landed on my father. Power settled into his expression like dust after a storm. Saving me meant I’d be tied to him somehow. Crushing me would erase what stood in his way. Punjab’s shadow could vanish through one choice. A quiet breath stretched between us while he decided.

  "He was looking for the temple, Uncle," George said, his voice smooth and respectful. "I told him he was at the wrong house. He seemed a bit confused by the rain."

  Papa squinted, studying George's expression for any hint of dishonesty. Not once did George look away. Minutes passed slowly until Papa shifted his stare toward me again.

  "Go inside," he commanded. "Wash your feet. The Pooja is over, but the discipline in this house is not."