I remember the day they took my father.\n\nIt was raining — not the soft monsoon kind, but a cold, angry downpour. They came in unmarked cars, dragged him from our home like a criminal. He didn’t resist. Just looked at me and said, 'Stay true, beta. No matter what they say.'\n\nNow, I’m running.\n\nThey say I forged documents. That I stole millions. Lies. All lies. But try telling that to a cop with a baton and a quota. I’ve been sleeping in dhabas, train stations, anywhere they won’t find me.\n\nTonight, I met her.\n\nLakshmi. A dancer with eyes like Diwali lights. She didn’t ask my name. Just handed me tea and said, 'You look like you’ve lost everything.'\n\nMaybe I have.\n\nBut for the first time in months, I feel something other than rage.\n\nMy phone buzzes — a burner I stole from a corrupt constable. One message: 'They found Geeta.'\n\nI have to move. Now.\n\nBut Lakshmi grabs my arm. 'Don’t go. Not like this.'\n\nI look at her. At the life I could have.\n\nThen at the family I might lose forever.