The Price Of Absence

It had been two days since Kieran first met Amara. Two days since fate had stirred something ancient and unexplainable between them.

Two days — and yet it felt like he had known her forever.

Amara had warmed to him quickly, though she still carried the shy instincts of a wild bird — startling easily, quiet in her affection.

She never called him “father”.

But she watched him with such fierce, trusting eyes that it tore at something deep inside Kieran every time.

They spent hours together — playing in the gardens, wandering the forest’s edge, sitting silently in the shade as monks chanted prayers in the temple beyond.

There was peace between them, the kind of peace Kieran had never known in boardrooms or luxury towers.

Until today.

Duty clawed its way back.

The world Kieran had once ruled refused to let him go so easily.

As Amara finished her crown of flowers for her sweet stranger, the hum of the black car’s engine cut sharply through the soft peace of the monastery courtyard.

Dust curled at Kieran’s polished shoes as he stood frozen, heart clenched painfully tight.

His assistant — Davis, strode toward him, clipboard in hand, voice clipped and businesslike.

“Good morning, Mr. Vance.”, he said, not sparing a glance for the prayer flags or the quiet gardens. “We're behind schedule. Investors are arriving in two days. We need your decisions — today.”

It was like being punched in the gut.

Cold, sharp, and all too familiar.

The world Kieran had ruled for years — deadlines, contracts, negotiations — was clawing him back. Demanding him back.

He looked over Davis’s shoulder — and there, by the edge of the garden, stood Amara.

She had a tiny wreath of wildflowers still cradled in her arms, her messy hair glowing like a halo in the morning sun.

Her wide, innocent eyes locked onto his —

Questioning.

Waiting.

Trusting.

Kieran felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

He could already feel the words forming in Davis’s mouth: Contracts. Board votes. Press releases.

Worlds he was supposed to belong to.

But none of it mattered — not when that tiny soul was watching him with more faith than anyone had ever given him.

And Kieran realized, with sudden, aching clarity:

He didn’t know how to leave her.

“Wait.” he said roughly to Davis, not waiting for permission. “I’m not done here yet.”

Before Davis could protest, Kieran turned away — walking back toward the girl, toward the garden, toward the life he hadn’t even dared to dream he needed.

Behind him, the executive cursed under his breath.

Ahead of him, Amara smiled — a shy, uncertain thing — and held out a small daisy crown, as if offering him a kingdom richer than any empire.

Kieran took it with a smile without any hesitation. And for the first time in years, he felt free.

He had kissed Amara lightly on the crown of her head — a gesture so natural, so desperate, it surprised even him — and promised himself to do it more often with her.

“Little one...”, he said gently. “I've some important work to do. Stay home with your Master...”, slightly touching her small nose. “Don't wander around alone. When I come back, we'll continue to play, okay?”

“Yes, Go safely.”, she nodded, small and brave. “I'll be a good girl.”

Kieran smiled and turned around, getting inside his Rolls-Royce, with his assistant elegantly.

——————————————————————

The sun rose higher, casting long golden fingers across the monastery walls.

At first, Amara didn’t worry.

She sat patiently on the low stone steps of the prayer hall, her little legs swinging back and forth, humming a tune she had heard Kieran whistle the day before.

He had promised he would be back soon. She believed him.

Every few minutes, she glanced up eagerly at the worn gates, expecting — hoping — to see the familiar tall figure step through. His dark jacket. His kind, tired smile.

But the gates stayed empty.

The hours stretched long, heavy with heat and buzzing flies. The monks bustled past her with baskets of herbs and scrolls, nodding kindly but too busy to notice the growing shadow on the little girl’s face.

Her fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of her sleeve. She tugged a little too hard, tearing a small hole.

Still, she waited.

Still, she believed.

The garden where they had played together yesterday swayed gently in the breeze — bright marigolds and shy white lilies.

Amara tiptoed to the wall and climbed up, perching carefully where she had always waited for him before.

She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top.

The world beyond the monastery looked so big from up there.

Wide roads. Distant mountains. Endless sky.

And somewhere out there — Kieran.

He must have gotten lost, she thought. Or maybe the wind had carried him far away like the prayer flags that snapped and fluttered overhead. Maybe he had forgotten.

A lump formed in her throat.

Amara pressed her forehead against her knees, breathing in the dusty scent of her dress. Tears pricked her eyes, but she squeezed them shut stubbornly.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t be a burden. Kieran was busy. Important. She understood.

She just wished — just wished he would come back.

The day burned on. The shadows grew longer. The ache inside her chest grew too heavy to carry.

“Let's find him out!”, exclaimed with determination to do so.

Finally, with trembling hands, she climbed down from the wall. Her bare feet hit the ground with a soft thud. She stood there for a long moment, staring out at the village in the distance — the place where the road disappeared. The place, forbidden for her to go.

Maybe if she found him, maybe if she reminded him again — he would come back faster.

Her small fist curled tightly at her side.

She took one deep, shuddering breath, and set off down the dusty path, all alone.

She didn’t know that with every step she took, destiny itself held its breath.

——————————————————————

The village beyond the monastery was a tangled maze of narrow streets and crumbling houses. Vendors shouted over carts filled with dusty produce.

Dogs barked and snapped at each other in the alleys. Children shrieked and played games in the mud.

Amara threaded her way carefully, heart pounding.

She had never gone this far alone before. But the thought of Kieran’s warm smile, the way he always crouched down to her level, the way he listened — truly listened — gave her courage.

Until they noticed her.

A group of village children spotted the tiny figure weaving through the street, her torn dress fluttering around her knees. Their laughter twisted sharply, cruelly.

“Monster girl!”

“Bad luck brat!”

“Stay away or she'll eat you too!”

The words hit Amara like stones.

Hard.

Unseen.

Worse than any fist.

But fists came too.

Rough shoves.

Grabbing hands.

She stumbled, falling to her knees in the dirt.

Adults looked on — some with pity, most with disgust — but none moved to help.

An old man muttered under his breath, “Should've been left to the wolves. No good will ever come from that cursed child.”

Another woman spat at the ground near her feet. “Bad blood! Demon blood!”

The children jeered louder, encouraged by the silence of their elders. They picked up stones.

The first one struck her shoulder.

The second — her temple.

Amara fell.

Pain exploded behind her eyes. Blood trickled down her face, soaking into the dirt.

And still, no one came.

Fear and superstition chained them more tightly than any law. They left her there — broken, bleeding, alone.

—————————————————

Far away, at the construction site,

Kieran Vance stood in a sea of voices and blueprints.

Davis droned on, his voice a sharp buzz in the humid air: “Mr. Vance, the investors expect finalized decisions today. We’re already three days behind. If we lose the organic certification paperwork, it’s your reputation on the line.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened. The words barely registered.

Something was wrong.

It started as a prickling at the base of his neck, a tightening in his chest, a deep, gnawing ache that logic could not explain.

He tried to ignore it.

Forced himself to nod at meaningless words. Signed documents with a hand that trembled slightly.

But the feeling only grew worse.

Colder.

Sharper.

Screaming without sound.

He wiped his palms against his pants, a deep breath rattling out of him.

And then Davis said something about deadlines, about profits — and Kieran snapped, “I know that. Don't speak too much.”

He buried again in the sea of blueprints, but inside his heart was pinching him, as if something may happen.

—————————————————

The black Rolls-Royce again rumbled up the dusty road toward the monastery gates, kicking up plumes of earth and scattering the prayer flags hanging from the trees.

Davis climbed out first, tapping irritably at his clipboard.

“Mr. Vance.”, he barked. “I've written down the schedule when the investors are coming.”

But Kieran wasn’t listening.

He scanned the courtyard — the garden. The steps. The monastery walls.

Amara wasn’t there.

The place where she usually waited for him — small feet swinging over the garden wall — was heartbreakingly empty.

Panic punched him in the gut.

Something was wrong.

He knew it.

Felt it like blood in his mouth.

Without hesitation, he shoved the clipboard against Davis's chest.

“Just mail it to me.”, he rasped. “I'm busy.”