The passage of nearly a month had woven a tapestry of conflicting emotions within Aria. As she sat in the room that had become her new reality, the longing for her family surged through her, an unrelenting ache in her chest. With a newfound courage fueled by the amalgamation of her altered identity and the echoes of her past, Aria dared to confront Rohit.
Aria: "Sir, can I ask you a question?"
Rohit: "You already did."
Aria: "Please sir!"
Rohit: "Okay, go on."
Aria, her voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and determination: "I miss my family. Can't I see them, even just once?"
Rohit, reclining in his chair, looked at Aria with a detached gaze. His response was cold, devoid of empathy.
Rohit: "Aria, you don't have a family anymore. You belong here now."
Aria, undeterred by the stark dismissal, pressed further: "But they are my parents. I have memories, a life before this."
Rohit, with a cynical smile: "Aria, let me simplify this for you. Look at that furniture," he gestured to a nearby piece. "Does it have a family? No, because it's just an object, my property. And you, my dear, are no different now."
Aria's heart sank at the callous comparison. The realization that she was being equated to an inanimate object sent shivers down her spine.
Aria, her eyes pleading: "I am a person, not an object. I have feelings, memories, a life beyond this."
Rohit, unmoved: "You are my property. You don't have a family. Your life now is here, serving us."
The weight of Rohit's words hung heavily in the room, a stark reminder of the harsh reality Aria found herself entangled in. The longing for family, the yearning for a past life, collided with the cold pragmatism of Rohit's perspective.
As Aria grappled with the dissonance between her innate humanity and Rohit's dehumanizing stance, the room bore witness to the unraveling complexities of her existence—a girl trapped in a narrative where her identity was reduced to that of a possession, devoid of familial ties and connections.