In New Delhi, India, Chetan Kumar only wanted his daughters to go back to school. 😔 They had spent years locked in their room in Ghaziabad, India, surrounded by K-pop posters, with Korean names they had given each other, disconnected from everything that was not that screen.
When he confiscated their phones in the days leading up to February 4, 2026, he thought he was doing the right thing.
Nishika was 16 years old. Prachi, 14. Pakhi, 12. Together they wrote an eight-page letter addressed to their father. “Korea is our life, we cannot give it up”, it said. “You did not know how much we loved it. Now you have seen the proof.”
At 2:15 in the morning, a neighbor saw them from the building across the street. The eldest sat on the window frame. The second hugged her. The youngest tried to hold on to them. All three fell from the ninth floor. 💔
“Read everything that is written here because it is all true. Read it now!”
“I am very sorry.”
“Forgive me, Dad.”
Their younger sister, Devu, survived. The others had pushed her away because she did not want to be part of their world. This story forces us to ask how alone teenagers can come to feel inside their own home.