Arun had worked in a bank for twelve years. He thought he knew every financial form ever printed. But this one was alien. There was no policy number, no nominee name, no agent code. Just a series of cryptic boxes filled in with his father’s shaky, sober handwriting—the handwriting he used only for things that mattered.

Box 4: Date of Contingency – 12-08-1999.

Arun flipped the envelope. There, in letters so small they seemed to crawl, was a single sentence: Upon the filing of Form 3857, the assured agrees that their absence is temporary, and the corporation reserves the right to verify the authenticity of the assured’s return, including but not limited to dreams, photographs, and the sound of familiar footsteps in an empty house.

Then his father’s voice, tired and gentle, from the hallway: “Arun? The premium on the 3857… it’s due. They sent a reminder. Something about compound interest on a soul.”