Ira lay sprawled on her bed, fingers drifting idly over her phone screen. The faint glow lit up her face, her lashes lowering and lifting with lazy disinterest.

The door banged open. Vaidehi strode in, a worn spatula clenched in her hand, her bangles clinking with the sharpness of her steps. The rustle of her synthetic saree carried the scent of turmeric and frying oil.

“Get inside your phone already!” her voice rang out, sharp and cutting. “Day and night, eating, sleeping, every hour—just phone, phone, phone!”

The phone slipped from Ira’s grip, landing on the crumpled bedsheet. Her eyes darted to her mother, wide and startled, like a child caught in the act.

Vaidehi’s gaze held no softness. “For the last four, five months, not once have I seen you turn a single page. You’re wasting time. No focus, no ambition. After graduation, what then?” The spatula trembled slightly in her hand, her disappointment heavy in the air.

Ira’s shoulders caved under the words. A knot of frustration twisted inside her chest. She wanted to speak, but the silence pressed harder, suffocating her.

“You need to think beyond just passing college!” Vaidehi pressed on. “Government jobs, further studies—something. You cannot just drift through life!”

Ira’s jaw tightened, her throat burning as she forced back the tears stinging her eyes.

Her mother’s tone shifted, firm and unrelenting. “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.”

The words struck like a hammer. Ira’s lips trembled, then curved into a thin, bitter smile. She lifted her gaze, eyes glinting.
“If you want it so much, why don’t you take the exam yourself? There’s no age limit, is there?”

Vaidehi stiffened, her face flushing as if struck. “Don’t talk back, Ira! I am your mother. Show respect to your elders. And don’t be ridiculous. This is about your future.”

Ira’s fists closed tight at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Her voice, when it came, was low but unyielding. “I’ll do what I want. Not what you decide. I trusted you once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

With one swift movement she rose from the bed, her hair flying across her shoulders. She snatched her phone and walked out, her footsteps ringing with finality.

Vaidehi stood frozen in the doorway, the spatula drooping in her hand, her eyes clouded with worry.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

On the rooftop, Ira sat alone, wrapped in the stillness of the night. The moon glowed above like a fragile beacon, bright yet powerless to scatter the shadows that clung to her thoughts. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, her muffled sniffles vanishing into the breeze.

“What do I do?” Her voice broke into the darkness, trembling with desperation. “I feel like dying every second.” The words fell heavy, carrying a raw ache. “Why was I even born?”

Her eyes dropped, blurring with tears. 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.

Lifting her gaze to the sky, she whispered, “Is there more you want me to endure? 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 concrete shadows across the street. A single house caught her gaze, stirring a pang deep within.

She must be lucky. Her mind swirled bitterly. Freed from all the chaos… at just twelve. The memory gnawed at her, as if the night itself held the answer she couldn’t grasp.

She let out a dry chuckle, recalling the stranger she had once spoken to by the riverbank. Life is beautiful, I had said. “Life sucks,” she muttered under her breath, her hollow laugh echoing faintly across the rooftops.

Pacing restlessly, she pressed her question into the silence. “Why did I get stuck with this life? What did I do to deserve it?” The words spilled out, ragged and unrelenting.

At last, she leaned against the parapet 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 down 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 china and crystal sharp against the polished mahogany table. Her dark eyes, once soft with warmth, now burned like hot coals, alive with anger and desperation.

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

Aanand entered, his footsteps muted on the thick carpet. His eyes, firm and steady, sought hers, but she avoided his gaze.

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

“What!?” Her response cracked like a whip, sharp and dangerous.

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her rigid frame. “What happened?”

Her hand trembled as she set down the final plate, the delicate china rattling under her grip. She turned, outrage and hurt written across her face.

“You know what happened!” Her voice shook, the edge of despair seeping through. “My son comes home after three weeks, and he hasn’t left his room since morning. He didn't ’t eat, he didn't ’t speak. Because of you!”

Aanand’s jaw tightened. “I did what was necessary. He needs to learn responsibility.”

Anusuiya’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Responsibility? You call crushing his spirit responsibility? You’re breaking him!”

Aanand closed his eyes, his hands clasped behind his back as though forcing restraint. His breath was slow, but his voice cut with irritation. “He’ll come out when hunger wins. Stop worrying. He’s just being stubborn again.”

Anusuiya’s face fell, her eyes shining with fresh tears. “Stubborn?” Her voice cracked. “You think he’s just throwing tantrums? He’s hurting, and you refuse to see it!”

For a moment, Aanand’s gaze softened, catching the raw fear in her eyes. But it faded quickly.

“Call Maiyaan. We’ll eat,” he said firmly, his tone more measured now. “And where is Vardhaman?”

“Maiyaan isn’t home. Vardhaman hasn’t returned from college yet.”

His body stiffened. “It’s past nine, and he’s still out?” His tone sharpened with disbelief.

Anusuiya turned away, weary from their clash.

“This is the result of your overindulgence,” he snapped. “You’ve turned them reckless.”

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

Before she could finish, a tired voice broke through the air.

“I’m home.”

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 eyes once bright and sparkling seemed dull and lifeless.

He lazily kicked off his shoes, letting them fall hazardly near the shoe reck, rather them placing them neatly inside. The gesture was a reflection of his exhaustion- physical and emotional. 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, his voice barely above a whisper lacking its usual warmth.

Relief washed over Anusuiya’s face. She hurried to him, her hands cupping his cheeks, checking his weariness with trembling fingers.

“Vardhaman, beta! What kept you so late?”

Aanand, however, stood rigid, his gaze locked on his younger son.

“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to worry you. I had a study group.” His voice faltered, carefully avoiding his father’s eyes.

“Study group? At nine at night?” Aanand’s words landed like a challenge.

Vardhaman turned toward his mother instead, his voice almost a whisper. “Bhaiya came back?”

Anusuiya’s expression softened with compassion, but before she could speak, Aanand cut in, his tone sharp.

“Yes. Your precious Bhaiya returned. And has shut himself in his room all day.”

Vardhaman closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself. Without a word of argument, he turned and started toward Rudraksh’s room, carrying the weight of silence with him.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said quietly, but with resolve.

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.

A/N: Hello, lovely readers!

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

2. Will Rudraksh listen to Vardhaman, or will he ignore him?