The morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Maya woke before her alarm, staring at the ceiling, her body stiff like she had barely slept. The night before clung to her skin — the questions she didn't answer, the things she didn't explain, the truth she swallowed whole.
Her father was still not home.
That was the only reason she had slept at all.
She moved slowly, careful not to make noise, listening to the house the way one listens to a stranger. Every sound felt suspicious. Every creak felt like judgment.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of water and didn't drink it immediately. Her hands trembled slightly. She steadied them.
You made your choice, she reminded herself.
Now live with it.
She checked her phone.
No new messages. No warnings. No instructions.
That, somehow, frightened her more.
By mid-morning, the house was still silent. Too silent.
Then she heard it.
The sound of a car pulling into the compound.
Her heart dropped.
She didn't rush to the window. She didn't panic. She stood still, breathing through the moment, listening as the engine shut off.
The door opened.
Footsteps.
Her father was home.
She stayed where she was.
He entered the house without calling her name. That alone told her everything. When he usually returned from trips, he announced himself — joked, complained, laughed.
This time, there was none of that.
She heard his bag drop in the sitting room.
Then his voice.
"Maya."
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just firm.
She stepped out of the kitchen.
"Yes, sir."
He stood in the middle of the sitting room, travel clothes still on, eyes fixed on her like he had been looking for her the moment he stepped inside.
"You came back yesterday," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"You didn't call me."
"No, sir."
"You didn't message."
"No, sir."
He nodded once, slowly, as if confirming something to himself.
"Sit."
She obeyed.
He remained standing.
"I came back late last night," he said. "You were already asleep."
Her chest tightened.
"I thought about waking you," he continued. "But I wanted to hear your explanation when you were fully awake."
She said nothing.
"You to
"You left the house for days and did not even inform anyone of your where about?," he said calmly. "Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you disappeared."
The word was heavy.
"Where did you go, Maya?"
This was the question she had been dreading — not because she didn't expect it, but because answering it truthfully wasn't an option.
"I went out," she said carefully.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Out where?"
She hesitated — then shook her head. "I can't say."
Silence fell like a weight.
"You can't," he repeated.
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't go there for pleasure," she replied. "And I didn't go there to disrespect you."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I know."
He studied her — really studied her — as though searching for the daughter he knew inside the woman sitting before him.
"You've never hidden things from me before," he said.
"I've never been in a position where hiding was necessary," Maya replied quietly.
His jaw tightened.
"So now you decide when I deserve the truth."
"No," she said. "I decide when the truth puts you in danger."
That snapped something.
He slammed his hand against the table.
"Do not talk to me like I am a child!"
Maya didn't flinch.
"I'm not," she said. "I'm talking to you like someone I'm trying to protect."
His eyes burned.
"Protect me from what?"
She met his gaze.
"From knowing things that could harm you."
The room went very still.
"You think you're involved in something so serious," he said slowly, "that your own father shouldn't know?"
"Yes."
The honesty startled even her.
He laughed once — bitter, disbelieving.
"You leave the house without informing anyone," he said, "return without explanation, and now you're telling me I don't have the right to ask questions."
"I didn't say you don't have the right," Maya replied. "I said I don't have permission to answer."
"From who?"
She didn't respond.
His voice dropped. "Is someone threatening you?"
"No."
"Are you in trouble?"
"No."
"Are you involved in anything illegal?"
"No."
"Then why can't you speak?"
Because Project L did not exist in safe conversations.
Because names had power.
Because once spoken, they could not be taken back.
"Because I'm standing on something fragile," she said finally. "And one wrong word could break it."
He rubbed his face slowly.
"You think I won't break you first?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed.
"I know you're angry," she said. "And you have every right to be. But please understand this — I didn't disappear because I wanted freedom. I disappeared because I was called."
"By who?"
She shook her head again.
He exhaled sharply.
"You are playing with fire."
"I know."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I thought about it," she admitted. "Every second."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because you would have stopped me."
"And for good reason!"
"Not this time," she said.
His eyes softened just a fraction — not with approval, but with fear.
"You're changing," he said. "And change without guidance is dangerous."
Maya stood up slowly.
"I'm not asking you to approve," she said. "I'm asking you to trust that I know what I'm doing."
He stared at her.
"You don't," he said. "But you think you do."
She nodded. "That may be true."
Silence returned.
Finally, he spoke.
"I don't like this," he said. "I don't like secrets. I don't like lies. And I don't like that my daughter is walking into something she refuses to name."
She bowed her head slightly. "I understand."
"But," he added, "I won't cage you."
She looked up.
"You won't?"
"I will watch," he said. "And if this thing breaks you, I will not forgive whoever put you on that path."
Her throat tightened.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me yet," he replied. "This conversation is not over. It's only delayed."
He picked up his bag.
"Go to school," he said. "Live normally."
She nodded.
As she turned to leave, her phone vibrated softly in her pocket.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
The timing was too perfect.
Whatever had begun…
It was already moving faster than she could control.