Aryan's POV
My breath hitched.
The cathedral walls suddenly felt closer—like they were pressing in, like they knew something I didn't.
I stared at Ratan. "Then why?" I asked, barely able to contain the storm building in my chest. "Why are you so damn strict with her? Why didn't you stop her? Why the hell did you slap her like that?!"
His expression didn't change—but something in his eyes cracked.
"I'm not strict with her," he said quietly. "I'm protecting her."
"Protecting?" I spat. "That's what you call it? You think hitting her unconscious is protection?"
"You think I enjoyed doing that?" he snapped—louder now, not angry at me, but at something invisible that had haunted him far longer than I could imagine. "You think I wanted to see my daughter drop like that? You have no idea what I live with."
His voice broke, and I'd never seen a man look so helpless while standing so tall.
"She doesn't just have one other personality, Aryan."
I froze.
"What?"
Ratan's eyes met mine.
"She has more. More than two. I've counted at least six so far."
My heartbeat slammed against my chest.
"Six?"
He nodded. "Each with a different name. Different behavior. Different voice. Different memories."
He took a breath and started counting on his fingers.
"There's Reyza—the most dominant. Sharp, cruel, unpredictable. Then there's Sana—a child, barely six. She cries a lot. Draws on walls with chalk. Afraid of fire."
My throat tightened.
"Then Myra—cold, calculating. She lies without blinking. Once tried to run away with one of my guns."
I stepped back.
"She's also got Inaaya—the romantic one. The soft one. She reads poetry and believes the world is a dream."
"And then there's Zarah—silent. Doesn't speak. But her presence... it chills the whole house. She just watches."
Ratan paused.
"There's one more. We don't know her name. She never talks. But she screams in the middle of the night and carves things into her skin."
I felt like the floor had been pulled from under me.
"She doesn't remember, Aryan. Aarohi doesn't know when they take over. Her mind… it's a battlefield. I'm not punishing her. I'm trying to protect what little piece of her is still left."
I couldn't believe it.
No—I didn't want to believe it.
But pieces were falling into place. The switches. The moments of confusion. The things she said and didn't remember saying.
"She needs help," I whispered.
"She needs someone who won't romanticize her pain," Ratan said, firm. "Not just love her. She needs someone who understands she's broken in ways no love can fix."
I looked down, heart twisting.
And I remembered her laughing in the car just an hour ago. Free. Beautiful. Bruised.
"I don't care," I finally said. "She's not broken. She's fighting."
Ratan watched me.
"I'll protect her," I added. "Even if I have to protect her from herself."
Something shifted in his eyes then.
A flicker of surprise.
Maybe even… hope.
But just as quickly, it vanished.
"We'll see," he said.
Then he turned, and walked into the cathedral's deeper shadows, leaving me alone with the weight of everything I'd just learned.
Later That Night
The air outside the cathedral was cold.
Silent.
The kind of silence that came after something big—like the eye of a storm, waiting.
Ratan had asked me to meet him alone. No Aarohi. No Reyza. No shadows. Just us.
I wasn't sure what I expected… but not this. Not him leaning against the black Rolls Royce in a three-piece suit, lighting a cigar like he wasn't the man who'd knocked his daughter unconscious hours ago.
I walked up to him, fists clenched.
"You hit her," I said.
He exhaled smoke and didn't look at me. "I had to."
"No, you didn't."
He finally turned. "And you'd know, would you? After knowing her for what—two months?"
"Long enough to know she didn't deserve that."
Ratan took a slow step toward me. "She doesn't deserve any of this. But life doesn't hand out what we deserve—it hands out what we're meant to survive."
"I get that she's not just Aarohi," I said, voice shaking. "I get she has other sides. I even get that she's not safe sometimes. But damn it—there are other ways to handle it."
"Tell me, Aryan," he said, suddenly very quiet, "have you ever woken up to your daughter trying to drown herself in the bathtub because she thought she was punishing 'the real one' inside her?"
My mouth opened—and closed.
"No?" he asked. "Then don't tell me about 'other ways.' I've tried every way."
He took another step.
"Therapy. Clinics. Holistic crap. Isolation. Company. You name it. Nothing works for long. They keep coming back. They get stronger. Reyza used to only take over for five minutes. Now it's hours."
He looked off into the darkness.
"She carves names into the walls. Names I don't know. Once, I found her bleeding, laughing. Said 'Zarah likes the red.'"
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
He looked at me again—this time, with less fire. More… fatigue.
"You think I'm cold," he said. "But I'm exhausted. I'm fighting wars you can't see. Every day."
I stepped forward.
"I want to help."
"You think love is enough?" he asked, voice rising. "You think loving her will fix this?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I do know that leaving her alone will break her. And I won't let that happen."
He went silent.
The streetlight above us flickered once.
Twice.
Then he sighed. "You don't even know what you're walking into."
"Then tell me," I said. "Tell me everything."
He stared at me for a long time.
Then, slowly, he looked down the road. "There's something I didn't tell you before. Something not even Aarohi knows."
I felt my chest tighten.
"What?"
He dropped the cigar. Crushed it beneath his heel.
"She doesn't just have six personalities, Aryan."
"…What are you saying?"
"She has seven." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And the last one… has a name no one's dared speak aloud in this house for years."
He looked me dead in the eyes.
"Because when she comes out… people get hurt."