Ira lay sprawled on her bed, her eyelashes lowering and lifting with lazy disinterest as she scrolled through her feeds. The faint glow illuminated her face, casting a pale blue light on her bored expression. While the soft hum of the ceiling fan overhead seemed to lull her into a state of numbness.

The door banged open, shattering the lingering silence.

Vaidehi stood at the doorstep; the rustle of her synthetic saree carried the scent of mixed spices. She clenched a worn spatula, her knuckles whitening around the steel handle.

"Get inside your phone already!" Her sharp voice rang out.

Ira's fingers faltered on the screen, and the phone slipped from her grip, landing on the crumpled bedsheet with a soft thud. Her eyes darted to her mother, wide and startled.

Vaidehi’s eyebrows knitted as she took in her daughter’s startled form. The spatula trembled in her hand while she poured out her anger, her face animated with frustration. "For the last four, five months, not once have I seen this girl turning a single page! You're just wasting time! No focus, no ambition. After graduation, what will you do?!"

Ira's shoulders slumped, her chest sinking as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. A knot of frustration twisted inside her, making her throat constrict. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the silence pressed harder, suffocating her.

Vaidehi's voice pressed on, relentless. "You need to think beyond just passing college, Ira! Government jobs, further studies—something. You cannot just drift through life!" Her words echoed off the walls, filling the already fragile atmosphere with a high tension.

Ira's jaw muscles flexed as she gritted her teeth. Her throat constricted, burning with unshed tears that stung her eyes.

Vaidehi's tone remained firm and unrelenting, like a judge pronouncing sentence. "I am still saying, return to the medical path. People clear those exams even after twenty-five. You are only twenty-one. You still have time."

Ira gulped, her lips trembled before she  pressing them tightly. She lifted her gaze, her eyes glinting like shards of glass in the dim light. "If you want it so much, why don't you take the exam yourself? There's no age limit, is there?"

Vaidehi's face darkened. "Don't talk back, Ira! I am your mother. Learn to be respectful toward your elders. And don't be ridiculous. This is about your future."

Ira's hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into the mattress. "I'll do what I want. Not what you decide. I trusted you people once. And now I won't make that mistake again."

With one swift motion, she swang her legs off the bed, snatched her phone from the bedside table, and walked out of the room.

Vaidehi stood frozen in the doorway. Her eyes clouded – less with worry and more with irritation – as her gaze following Ira's retreating figure. The spatula still trembled under her fingers' wrath.

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Ira sat alone on the rooftop, wrapped in the stillness of the night. The moon glowed above, casting a silver glow on her face and surroundings. But its light seemed powerless to scatter the shadows that clung to her thoughts like dark, swirling clouds. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, while her muffled sniffles broke the stillness.

What do I do? I feel like dying every second.

Why was I even born?

Her eyes dropped, blurring with tears as she stared at the rough texture of the steps concrete.

I can't do anything. I'm not good at anything. I don't have any talent.

Each admission pressed on her chest, sharp and suffocating, like a physical weight that she couldn't shake off.

Lifting her gaze to the sky, she whispered, "Is there more you want me to endure, huh? Do you want me to be the strongest?" Her breath hitched. "Fine... but can it not be this hard sometimes?"

Her eyes drifted to the neighborhood below, where moonlight stretched the long shadows across the street. A single house caught her gaze, and a pang of envy stirred within her.

She must be lucky. Freed from all the chaos... at just twelve.

She let out a dry chuckle, recalling the stranger she had once spoken to by the riverbank. "Life is beautiful," she muttered under her breath. "Life sucks, man."

Getting up from the stairs, she paced restlessly along the railing.

Why did I get stuck with this life? What did I do to deserve it?

Her back leaned against the railing wall, eyes searching the moon and the stars above. Their quiet shimmer seemed to draw her in, wrapping her in a gentler rhythm than the chaos below.

She inhaled deeply, the night air cooling her lungs, and slowly the tension in her shoulders eased. Her eyelids drooped halfway, her fingertips grazing the rough wall in absent circles.

For a moment, the world with its sharp edges and demands blurred into the background. In the hush of night, she found a fragile stillness. The stars blinked like soft reassurances, and something inside her began to loosen.

Beneath the sadness, beneath the weight she carried, a thin thread of hope stirred. The vast sky stretched on, whispering that even in darkness, beauty remained. And for the briefest moment, Ira felt it – that she wasn't entirely alone.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Anusuiya's fingers moved with frantic urgency, the clink of fine dishes echoing sharply against the polished wooden table. Her dark eyes, once soft with motherly warmth, now burned like hot coals.

The maids, sensing the storm brewing, exchanged nervous glances and quietly slipped away, leaving her alone with her restlessness.

From the corners of her eyes, she caught Aanand entering, the soft padding of his footsteps a gentle whisper in the silence. His eyes, firm and steady, sought hers. But she avoided his gaze, her head bent over the table as she arranged the dishes with a precision that bordered on aggression.

"Anusuiya?" His voice carried its usual authority, low and unyielding.

"What?!"

Aanand stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her rigid frame, eyes narrowing as he took in the tension in her shoulders and the tight line of her lips. "What happened?" he asked in a low, measured voice.

Anusuiya's hand trembled as she set down the final plate, the delicate china rattling under her grip. With a look of outrage and hurt, she turned, glaring at her husband. "You know what happened!"

Aanand's jaw tightened. "I did what was necessary, Anusuiya. He needs to learn to be responsible."

Anusuiya's eyes narrowed. "Responsibility? You call crushing my son's spirit responsibility? You're breaking him!"

Aanand closed his eyes briefly, hands clasping behind his back. "He'll come out when hunger gets him. Stop worrying. He's just throwing another tantrum."

Anusuiya's eyes shone with fresh tears. "Tantrums?" Her voice cracked. "Our grown up son is throwing... tantrums?"

For a moment, Aanand's gaze softened, catching the raw fear in her eyes, and his strict-father mask slipped. But it faded quickly as it came, replaced by his usual composure. "Call maiyaan. We'll have dinner," he said firmly in a low voice, taking the front chair. "And where is Vardhaman?"

"Maiyaan isn't home and Vardhaman hasn't returned from college," Anusuiya replied dryly.

Aanand's body stiffened, eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder. "It's past nine, and he's still out?" 

Anusuiya turned away, ignoring whatever allegations her husband had to throw on her.

"This is the result of your overindulgence," Aanand snapped. "You've turned them into reckless adults!"

"When did I ever get the chance to overindulge my Rud—"

"I'm home."

Both parents' eyes snapped toward the exhausted voice.

Vardhaman trudged into the house, his movements languid, like a sloth navigating through the dense fog. Each step was measured, as if he was conserving energy, his feet dragging slightly on the floor. His eyes, once bright and sparkling, seemed dull and lifeless.

He lazily kicked off his shoes, letting them fall hazardly near the shoe rack, rather than placing them neatly inside. His backpack slid off his shoulder, drooping to the floor with a soft thud. His gaze, devoid of enthusiasm, drifted towards his parents, acknowledging their presence without really seeing them.

"I'm home, Mom," he murmured again.

Relief washed over Anusuiya's face, and she hurried to him. Her hands cupped his cheeks, checking his weariness with trembling fingers. "Vardhaman, beta! What kept you so late?"

Aanand stood rigid, his gaze locked on his younger son, eyes narrowing as he took in Vardhaman's exhaustion.

"Sorry, Mom." Vardhaman's voice faltered, carefully avoiding his father's eyes. "I didn't mean to worry you. I had a study group."

"Study group? At nine p.m.?" Aanand interrupted in a detached tone.

Vardhaman's gaze remained locked onto her mother's, his voice almost a whisper. "Bhaiya came back?"

Anusuiya's expression softened, but eyes welled up again.

"Yes," Aanand cut in. "Your precious Bhaiya returned. And has shut himself in his room all day."

Vardhaman's eyes snapped shut, and his jaw tightened. Without a word of argument, he turned, walking toward Rudraksh's room. "I'll talk to him."

Anusuiya's eyes followed him, relief and gratitude softening her features. Aanand's gaze lingered too, though his stern mask betrayed nothing of the concern flickering beneath, but the hope was evident in his following gaze.

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"Bhaiya, open the door. It’s me, Vardhaman." Vardhaman tapped lightly on the door, his knuckles barely grazing the wood.

Aanand and Anusuiya, who had followed him there, exchanged anxious glances. Her fingers were tightly entwined, lips moving in soundless prayers. While his jaw remained clenched, lips pressing into a thin line.

The door remained shut. Silence pressed heavy against the hallway walls.

Vardhaman knocked again, harder this time. "Bhaiya! Rudraksh Bhaiya! Open the door!" His fists pounded the wood, each thud echoing against the walls.

Anusuiya’s breathing quickened. Her chest rose and fell in sharp bursts as she fixed her gaze on the door, as if willing it to open.

Aanand’s face stayed stern, but his twitching eyelids betrayed the unease beneath.

The air grew heavy as the silence between knocks kept answering.

Anusuiya turned toward Aanand, twisting her face. "If anything happens to my son, I’ll leave you!" Her voice cracked, and tears streamed freely. She walked closer to the door, her fists striking the wood that appeared to stood with a determination of mountain. "Rudraksh! Beta, please open the door! Beta!"

Aanand’s composure faltered, his skin turning pale. He reached out to steady her—

"Don’t touch me!" she shoved him away. "This is all happening just because of you!"

Aanand stared at her, stunned. "What are you saying? It’s your overpampering that—"

"Please!" Vardhaman’s voice broke as he clutched his hair, tugging hard. "Stop fighting! This isn’t the time!"

The words froze them in place.

"Dad, we need to break this door," Vardhaman urged, breath trembling. "We can’t wait… Bhaiya might be—" His voice caught on the thought.

Aanand gave a short nod. "Guards!" His voice carried down the staircase.

Within moments, two guards hurried in, bowing quickly. "Sir?"

Aanand pointed sharply at the door. "Break it."

The men charged, their shoulders slamming against the wood. The door rattled but held. They braced again, sweat already beading on their foreheads. On the second blow, the frame groaned. On the third, the hinges gave way and the door swung open.

Anusuiya pushed past everyone. The moment her eyes fell inside, a strangled cry tore from her throat. "Rudraksh!"

Aanand and Vardhaman rushed forward, horror seizing their faces.

Rudraksh lay motionless on the cold floor, surrounded by shards of glass, broken ceramics, and torn photographs. His face was pale, lips streaked with dried blood, scratches cutting across his bearded cheeks and forehead. A gash above his left eyebrow had bled and crusted, leaving dark trails on his skin. His right palm was crimson, jagged glass still embedded deep. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive.

Vardhaman started lunging forward whe Aanand’s firm hand stopped him. The floor glittered with glass, each step a hidden danger.

A guard stepped carefully into the room and knelt beside Rudraksh. He lifted him gently, cradling his head and shoulders as though holding something fragile.

Anusuiya’s hands fluttered helplessly toward her son’s face. "My son…" she whispered, voice trembling.

Vardhaman pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as panic clawed at his chest. His eyes stayed fixed on his elder brother’s limp body being carried out of the room.

Aanand’s face, carved with lines of strain, betrayed the weight of fear he refused to voice. Still, his tone was steady. "We need to get him to the hospital. Now."

He glanced at his wife and younger son, a flicker of vulnerability passing across his features before resolve set back in.
“Vardhaman, stay with your mother.”

As Aanand strode out after the guards, Anusuiya’s broken pleas trailed behind him, her voice echoing through the bungalow. "Please, save my son..."

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The car screeched to a halt outside the hospital, tires screaming against the road before falling silent. The guard leapt out, Rudraksh’s limp body heavy in his arms, and followed close behind Aanand as they pushed through the sliding glass doors.

The hospital swallowed them in a rush of antiseptic air. White walls stretched in every direction, harsh under the fluorescent lights. The reception desk buzzed with the low murmur of telephones and the shuffle of papers, while a distant intercom crackled with announcements no one had time to truly hear.

Aanand’s eyes locked on the receptionist. He strode forward, voice breaking through the sterile calm.

"Excuse me!" His words rang sharp and urgent. "Where is Dr. Choudhary? It’s an emergency!"

The receptionist lifted her gaze slowly from her paperwork, her face composed, her tone measured. "Sorry, sir. He’s on dinner break. Approximately two hours."

Aanand's shoulders sagged, his face draining of color. For a blink, he simply stood there, the noise of the hospital muffling into a dull roar around him.

Then, he fumbled for his phone inside his white kurta's pocket. The screen shimmered before his eyes as he dialed the number he had trusted for years. Each ring stretched into an eternity until, finally, a familiar voice answered.

"Oh, Maurya! What brings you to call today?" Dr. Choudhary’s warmth spilled through the receiver.

"Choudhary…" Aanand’s voice broke. "I’m sorry to disturb you at dinner, but… Rudraksh—he’s been in an accident." He swallowed hard, the words barely scraping past his lips. "Please... please save him. I will owe you everything."

After a brief pause Choudhary’s tone shifted, firm and steady. "Don’t worry, Maurya. I’m on my way. In the meantime, get him shifted to the emergency ward. Tell the staff it’s my order."

Aanand closed his eyes, gripping the phone as if holding onto the man’s promise itself.

"And Maurya. Everything will be fine, have faith in God."

The line clicked off. The sounds of the hospital rushed back – footsteps clattering on the floor, a child crying down the hall, a nurse’s hurried instructions shouted to someone unseen.

Aanand straightened, his hesitation gone.

He signed the forms with quick, practiced strokes, his hands moving faster than his mind. Within minutes, Rudraksh was taken into the emergency ward, swallowed by a flurry of nurses in white coats and the steady pulse of beeping monitors.

Aanand stood at the threshold, the sharp tang of antiseptic thick in his lungs, clinging to Choudhary’s words like a prayer.

A/N: Hello, lovely readers!

1. How's the story unfolding for you so far?