Over the next month, Aryan’s control tightened like a noose around Disha’s life, slow and merciless, until every breath she took felt owned. The dorm room, once a shared space of laughter and late-night chai, had become her entire universe—a prison of four walls where time dissolved into an endless cycle of submission, pain, denial, and forced pleasure. Classes blurred into half-remembered lectures she attended like a ghost, her friends faded into distant memories she no longer dared to chase, and family calls turned into carefully orchestrated rituals of torment that left her voice trembling long after the line went dead. She existed now only in the spaces between Aryan’s commands, her body a canvas he painted daily with marks, her mind a fragile thing he chipped away at until numbness settled in like winter fog over Lucknow’s narrow lanes.