When we returned to the compound, the morning had already grown brighter.
The house stood quietly behind the tall gate, surrounded by flowering trees and the familiar scent of neem leaves drifting through the air.
Near the entrance stood the small chapel the family often used for prayer.
Her father stopped walking.
"Come," he said.
We entered together.
The chapel was dimly lit, sunlight filtering through narrow windows along the walls. Wooden benches lined the room, and at the front stood a modest altar.
A man in a bright golden suit stood near the pulpit.
At first I thought he was a visitor.
But something about him felt strangely familiar.
As we moved forward, I noticed several other men seated behind us. Their clothing reminded me of ceremonial knights — dark coats, polished shoes, silent expressions.
My heart began to beat faster.
Suddenly the man in the golden suit turned toward me. For a moment, my mind struggled to understand what I was seeing.
Because his face looked almost exactly like her father's.
A strange unease spread through my chest.
Instinctively I stepped behind one of the large wooden pews.
My mind whispered a strange thought:
Am I still dreaming?
Footsteps approached slowly.
The shadow of the man stretched across the floor until it reached my hiding place.
Then his voice spoke calmly.
"Young man…" I stood up.
"Hello… Papa?" I said nervously.
His expression hardened slightly.
"I am not your father," he replied.
He studied my face carefully.
"But you may call me her father."
Something in his voice carried both warning and curiosity. Then he noticed the items I was holding in my hands.
A black velvet cloth.
A long shimmering dress.
A small bar of chocolate.
And a tiny golden box.
Inside the box rested a ring.
His eyes widened slightly.