Taai = (Aunt)Father's elder brother's wife

Chacha = (Uncle)Father's younger brother

-*-*-

Rudraksh sat motionless on the hospital bed, his gaze fixed blankly on the white wall. Morning light streamed through the window, soft and golden, catching the bruises and bandages that mapped his skin like a battlefield left in silence.

He wore a loose white half-sleeve T-shirt paired with black trousers. His right hand, swathed in fresh bandages, rested limply at his side. Both legs were wrapped the same way, stretched out and still. Dark stitches marked his forehead, and strips of brown plaster clung to his clean-shaven skin.

The door creaked open, and Dr. Choudhary stepped in, Aanand following close behind.

The doctor's face brightened instantly, while Aanand's remained tight. "How are you doing, young man?" His voice brimmed with cheer meant to cut through the silence.

Rudraksh's lips remained closed; only a slight nod came as a response.

The doctor's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly, scribbling a note on the chart. "Good, good."

Aanand folded his hands behind his back, eyes clinging to every bruise, every stitch, every bandage on his son - alive, yet unreachable.

After reviewing the reports, Dr. Choudhary turned to his friend, smiling warmly. "Maurya, you can take him home now. With a month of rest, he should be back to normal."

Aanand nodded curtly, but his jaw tightened, as if holding back words he could not say.

The doctor walked closer to Rudraksh, brushing a hand over his hair. "Beta, no skipping meals. No gym, no exertion. Just rest, understood? I'll visit in two weeks to remove the stitches." His affectionate words only met silence.

Aanand's throat tightened as he watched, wishing for even a word, a glance - any proof that his son was still present beneath the silence.

"Let's get him home, Maurya," the doctor said gently. "Fresh air, familiar walls - they may help more than medicines."

Aanand nodded and stepped closer. His hands hovered uncertainly before he steadied them on the wheelchair. "Come, beta," he whispered, as though coaxing a child back from the edge of sleep.

Rudraksh's eyes flickered toward the chair, then away.

With the nurse's help, Aanand guided him into it.

As they wheeled out, Rudraksh's gaze shifted to the window. The yellow glow of the sun spilled over the earth, touching trees and rooftops with calm. Outside, the world moved forward with effortless rhythm. Inside him, everything remained suspended - time, thought, feeling.

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The drive home was swallowed in silence. Rudraksh leaned against the backseat, eyes closed, his good hand draped across his face as if shielding himself from more than just the light. His chest rose and fell in a slow, mechanical rhythm.

Aanand sat in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the window, knuckles pressed to his temple. His gaze stayed fixed on the road, but every few minutes it wandered toward Rudraksh's reflection in the mirror.

Balwant drove in silence, his focus locked on the road. The hum of the engine filled the car, monotonous and sharp against the unspoken weight pressing down on its passengers.

Outside, the city blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Inside, silence deepened, stretched thin with all that neither father nor son could voice.

Aanand's fingers intertwined tightly in his lap, as though clinging to something invisible - hope, perhaps, or the fragile thread that still bound him to his boy.

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The car rolled to a gentle stop on the lawn, the sudden stillness nudging everyone forward in their seats.

Rudraksh's eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times, struggling to pull himself out of the nap.

Balwant came out and fetched the wheelchair from the trunk, while Aanand hurried to his son's side.

"Beta?" Aanand's voice was low, careful, carrying both concern and restraint. His hands, steady but tender, guided Rudraksh from the car into the waiting chair.

Balwant took hold of the wheelchair handles, and together they moved toward the main gate.

Two constables stood at the doorway, backs straight, faces carved into masks of duty. They snapped to attention, saluting as the group approached.

Aanand answered with a brief nod.

Rudraksh's gaze floated past them, resting blankly on the great brown door, its surface etched with intricate Madhubani patterns that seemed to blur in his vision.

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Yashoda Devi sat beside Anusuiya, stroking her hair in an effort to calm her sobbing daughter-in-law. Vardhaman paced restlessly, one hand pressed against his chest while the other cupped his chin, his fingers tapping in quick, anxious beats.

"Stay strong, bahu." Yashoda's voice shook. "Rudraksh will be fine. He is our strongest child."

Anusuiya's sobs deepened, her body curling inward. Vardhaman's pacing grew more frantic, his eyebrows furrowed so tightly they seemed carved into his skin.

DING DONG! DING DONG!

All three hurried to the door, their steps colliding in a desperate rush. Vardhaman instinctively offered his arm to steady Yashoda, while Anusuiya surged ahead, drawn by an unspoken hope.

As the door opened, Anusuiya's heart stuttered at the sight of her fragile, battered son. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the gasp that tore from her throat as tears blurred her vision. Beside her, Yashoda's wrinkled face crumpled.

Vardhaman stumbled forward, tripping against the sofa. "Bhaiya!" His trembling fingers reached out, only to falter at the sight of stitches and bruises.

"Ouch!" Rudraksh hissed as Vardhaman's hand brushed too close.

"Sorry... sorry, Bhaiya!" Vardhaman quickly pulled his hands back, hovering helplessly in the space between them.

Rudraksh's expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "It's fine. Don't worry," he murmured.

With an effort, he lifted his good hand and ruffled his younger brother's hair. "How have you been, Maan?"

The question broke something inside Vardhaman, and his eyes brimmed over, face twisting. "I was lost without you, Bhaiya!" he burst out. "Why did you leave me again?! Do you know how I faced everything - Mom and Dad's fights, the silences, the questions?! All alone?!"

His words poured out unchecked, the torrent of a heart starved for comfort, while Rudraksh's faint smile held steady.

"Nobody was here to listen," Vardhaman sniffled. "Even Antara Didi. Whenever she called, she only asked about you. Always you. 'Where's Rudraksh? How is he?' And I-" He broke off, shaking his head as fresh tears spilled. "Stop smiling!"

Rudraksh's face wavered under the weight of his younger brother's words. Then, unexpectedly, a husky chuckle escaped him, carrying warmth into the heavy room. "I'm here, Maan." He brushed Vardhaman's tears away with the soft pad of his thumb. "I won't leave you again. I promise."

Vardhaman's hand trembled as he reached for him. "Promise?" His voice cracked like a child's.

Rudraksh clasped his hand, squeezing firmly despite his weakness. "Promise."

Yashoda, Anusuiya, and Aanand exchanged glances, their eyes shining with relief. The air, once thick with fear, now brimmed with a fragile peace - hope blooming again in the cracks of despair.

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The forenoon sunlight, carrying the gentle promise of a new day, spilled across the surroundings. Yet inside one house, the late-morning hours had already curdled into something bitter - heavy with resentment, thick with frustration.

Ira lay motionless, like a frog with three limbs splayed awkwardly - one hand clutching the pillow as if it were an inseparable lover. The warmth of her bed and the gentle cocoon of her dreams had dulled her to the world outside.

But the illusion shattered with the sharp clash of an unwelcome alarm clock.

"Twenty-six years of marriage, and still not a single day passes without your tardiness!" Raghav's thunderous voice reverberated through the house. "I'm constantly late for the office because of you! When will you learn to cook on time?!"

Vaidehi's eyes blazed like embers, her teeth clenching. "I'm not your servant!" she spat. "For twenty-six years, I've also toiled like a slave. Serving you and your family! My life has been nothing but sacrifice and duty!"

As the shouting escalated, Ira's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze blurry and disoriented. She buried her face in the pillow and muttered, "Just get two knives and cut each other's throats already."

"Duty?! What duty do you do except cooking?!" Raghav sneered, his voice venomous. "All you do is nag and ramble! Have you ever earned a single penny on your own?!"

Vaidehi's eyes flashed with fury, and she hurled the utensil aside, its clang echoing through the kitchen. "Have some shame," she said through gritted teeth. "When your practice was on the brink of collapse, I was the one who sat as a scholar for other students in the exam to pay Nakul and Ira's school fees. I was your intellectual equal. Maybe more! But after marrying you, my life became a sacrifice!"

Ira's fingers clenched around the soft fabrics desperately. "God, just kill me now. If I stay here any longer, I'll actually do it myself." Her words dripped with sarcasm and anger.

As usual, Raghav cursed Vaidehi under his breath, the venom in his words more than audible. As he turned to storm out, his gaze fell upon Ira's disheveled form, her eyes half-open. His expression twisted in disdain.

He gritted his teeth, the sound of his shoes scraping against the floor echoing through the tense silence. "Continue sleeping, beta!" he sneered. "This sleep will surely drive you to success! Why bother working when others toil for you?" Each word cut through the air like a razor.

Ira's face burned with embarrassment and anger. She felt the weight of her father's disdain, like a physical blow.

Raghav's rant continued, his voice rising. "Sleep, beta, sleep. Let others earn for you. You're privileged, after all." The sarcasm stung, leaving Ira feeling helpless.

She shut her eyes, squeezing her eyelids tight. She felt suffocated - trapped in the endless vortex of her parents' arguments.

How do I always get caught in the crossfire? Why do I always have to be the buffer between their egos and their anger?

Her mind raced, replaying the countless times she'd been dragged into their conflicts, playing the role of referee and peacekeeper.

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The soft hum of the computer and the gentle creaks of the classroom chairs created a soothing background melody.

Ira sat intently, fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed her assignment. Her lips moved silently, reading the words on the paper rather than the screen. Occasionally, her gaze drifted from her own work, sneaking peeks at her classmates' screens.

As the timer expired, the results flashed across her screen.

She let out a gentle sigh, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. "Five out of eight." Her voice was barely audible over the soft rustle of pages turning nearby.

Soon, the classroom erupted into motion. Students murmured to one another, chairs scraped across the floor, shoes shuffled, backpacks zipped, and drawers slammed - a joyful cacophony of the day's end.

Ira joined the flowing stream of students leaving the room, the warm orange glow of the evening sunlight spilling across the streets.

"Ira!" Navya's voice called out, accompanied by the labored panting of another girl struggling to keep pace.

Ira turned, expression neutral, waiting for her classmates to catch up.

Navya arrived, slightly winded, cheeks flushed. "Heading home?" she asked, her smile bright despite her heavy breathing.

Ira nodded curtly.

Navya clasped her stomach, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. "We're heading to the newly opened mall. Wanna join?" Her fingers danced in invitation.

Ira's eyebrows furrowed, her gaze shifting between Navya and the other girl lagging behind, panting audibly.

"We?" Ira asked, her tone devoid of any emotions.

Navya chuckled. "I and Nidhi." She looked over her shoulder. "Nidhi, hurry up!"

Nidhi quickened her pace, breath still uneven, until she finally caught up. A warm smile spread across her flushed face as she grasped Ira's hand in both of hers, shaking it firmly. "Hello, Ira... I-I'm Nidhi. W-we are classmates."

Ira's expression softened slightly as she returned the handshake, feeling Nidhi's warm, clammy hand from her sprint.

"Come with us," Nidhi invited warmly.

Ira fidgeted with her pen, one leg bent slightly at the knee while the other remained straight. "I... don't have money on me right now, and it's already evening. My mother might get angry."

Navya waved her off with a laugh. "Don't worry, we'll be back in just an hour. I have enough money for us. We're not going shopping anyway, just trying some street food."

Nidhi nodded eagerly. "Yeah, it'll be fun! We can see what's new in there." Her short ponytail bounced with each movement.

Ira's gaze drifted between Navya and Nidhi. "Sorry, maybe another time, hmm? Please don't mind. I'm getting late for home. Sorry again." She turned and walked away, pacing quickly.

"She's arrogant," Nidhi said, her nostrils flaring.

Navya shook her head, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "No, she's just shy."

Nidhi snorted. "We're not her husband and her husband's elder brother."

Navya's smile faltered briefly before she replied, "Shut up, Nidhi."

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Her slippers scraped softly against the uneven pavement as she moved through the crowded street. She nudged a loose stone with the tip of her foot, sending it skittering into the throng. Around her, auto‑rickshaws blared, vendors shouted their prices, and a thousand conversations braided into one restless hum.

The stone clattered forward until its sound dissolved into the din, and her pace slowed. Then-

A sharper noise cut through the street.

Ira's body moved before her mind could decide; she found herself weaving toward the commotion.

"You have no shame!" the man's voice trembled as he screamed his lungs out. One fist shook at his side while the other hovered in the air, itching to strike.

The woman's lips curled. "You're one to talk!"

Every breath in the crowd suspended.

"You're a monster!" the woman screamed, face twisted, spit flying. "Your brother wasn't only your brother; he was my husband too!"

The man's rage flared, his voice cracking. "You witch! You've ruined this family!"

An old man tried to step between them, hands raised in trembling peace, but he was shoved aside like a rag.

"I'll kill you before you destroy everything!" the man threatened.

At the woman's feet, a boy of eight or nine clung to her leg, sobbing. "Taai ji, stop! Please!"

Two teenage girls stood frozen nearby, eyes wide with fear. The younger of them broke from her sister's side, voice quivering. "Chacha... please... don't say that."

Ira's heart thudded as she watched the family unravel before her. The children's cries cut deeper than the accusations. For a moment, she stood rooted, her notebook clutched tightly against her chest. Then, without another glance, she turned away.

"Marriages carry ninety percent of a person's sorrows."

FLASHBACKS

Ira was scribbling physics numericals in her notebook. The unfinished room, with its exposed brick walls and dusty floor, seemed to trap the heat, making every breath feel like a struggle.

Sweat dripped down her forehead, trickling along her cheek and onto her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"God, it's too hot," she muttered, tossing her pen onto the notebook.

Wiping her sweaty face with the hem of her green quarter-sleeved kurti, she fanned herself with one hand, then gathered her open hair into a bun.

She was just getting immersed in the world of Maxwell's rules and Newton's laws when-

"Enough is enough! I'll end all of this today!"

Her ears pricked at the familiar cadence of their toxic banter, her stomach twisting into a knot. She had heard it all before - the accusations and recriminations, the blame and guilt-tripping.

Just then, her father's voice rose to a scream:

"Yes, yes! Today, either you will live or I!"

Ira's eyes rolled heavenward, her shoulders sagging. The same phrase she had been hearing for years - the dramatic flair, the self-pity. It was all so predictable.

She got up from her chair and began searching for something, anything, to block out the noise. Her fingers brushed against the rough texture of the brick wall, the dust coating her fingertips.

Her eyes spotted a ball of cotton in the corner, partially hidden beneath a pile of discarded construction materials.

Grabbing it, she stuffed it into her ears.

But it wasn't enough.

The words still seeped in, her mother's shrill voice piercing through the cotton. "Why?! Why will you die?! To put the blame on me?! To make everyone say what kind of wife I was, who forced her husband to death, huh?!"

Snapping her eyes shut, she covered her ears as if she could physically block out the pain.

She wanted to escape - to find a place where she could breathe, where she could think. But for now, she was trapped, stuck in this sweltering room with no escape from the chaos below.

"Hey, hey, hey! What are you both doing?! Fights happen between husband and wife, but that doesn't mean you people will take such a drastic step!"

Ira's eyes snapped open at the voice of their neighbor, Virendra ji.

She hastily ran downstairs, her heart racing with a sense of foreboding, the ceramic stairs rough beneath her feet.

Her eyes fixed on the scene.

And she froze.

Her father was holding a bottle of anti-pesticide oil, the kind used to kill insects in crop fields. Her mother and Virendra ji were trying to wrestle it out of his hands, their faces twisted in a mixture of fear and desperation.

Vaidehi's wrist was smeared with blood from broken bangles that had snapped during the commotion.

The sight was deadly, but Ira stood there, confused, with no emotion across her face, thinking:

What should I do? How should I behave in this situation? What would happen if they die? Why am I like this?!

FLASHBACKS END

"Oh, Madam! When walking, keep your eyes on the road, not buried in someone's memories!"

Ira blinked, startled, and looked up into the furrowed eyebrows of a boy about her age. His grip on the cycle handles was so tight that his knuckles had whitened.

Ira stared at him, confused. "Huh?"

The boy tilted his head back with a sharp exhale, then raised his eyebrows at her hand.

Knitting her eyebrows slightly, Ira dropped her gaze...and froze.

Her palm rested squarely against the front of his cycle. The wheel had slid halfway into the folds of her kurti, the fabric snagged in the spokes.

A deep flush climbed her cheeks, burning up to her ears. "Oh! I-I'm so sorry!" She stumbled back, fingers tugging desperately at the tangled cloth until it came free. "I wasn't... I didn't see..."

The boy's jaw, still tense, loosened slightly as he studied her mortified face. A flicker of amusement brushed past his annoyance, softening his eyes for a fleeting moment. Without a word, he gave a short nod, pushed the pedals, and rode off into the crowd.

Ira remained rooted on the spot, heart hammering in her chest. She pressed her notebook to her side, her gaze lingering on the road long after his cycle had disappeared, wondering how something so small could leave her feeling so shaken.

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The night's velvety darkness draped itself over the city, stars scattered like flickering diamonds across an endless black canvas. The moon wandered through thin veils of cloud, pausing now and then, as if playing a game of hide-and-seek. Silence ruled the streets; even the wind seemed to have fallen asleep. Yet one soul remained awake, caught somewhere between exhaustion and thought.

Rudraksh.

In his room, the soft blue glow of the night-lamp lingered on the walls, washing them in calm hues. He sat against the headboard, body sinking into the mattress, eyes tracing the quiet corners of the room. Everything was still, except his mind. It moved restlessly through memories and half-formed questions, like a tide that refused to recede.

What had once been a battlefield - mirrors shattered to dust, ceramics smashed across the floor, pictures torn into jagged pieces-now stood whole again. Every trace of destruction had been erased, every wound in he room carefully patched and hidden.

His gaze drifted to himself. Slowly, he lifted his right hand, thickly wrapped in bandages, and held it up to the light. He turned it palm up, then over, studying it as though it belonged to someone else. His eyes lingered on the folds of white, searching them for answers he could not name.

With his left hand, he reached up and brushed the stitched skin above his eyebrow. The touch stung, pulling a sharp hiss from his lips. "Shh..."

His gaze dropped to his feet, cocooned in the same white bindings. For a moment, his breath faltered, each inhale heavier than the last. The walls seemed to close in, and beneath the calm glow, a storm raged in his chest.

Heat surged into his face, and his jaw clenched. His left fist curled tight, knuckles whitening. His right hand, weak and useless, slipped downagainst the sheets, hanging there in quiet defeat.

Then, with sudden force, his good fist slammed against the wooden frame of the bed. The thud rattled through the stillness, echoing back at him. Pain shot up his arm, but it was nothing compared to the ache roaring inside. His lips pressed into a hard line, breath ragged, eyes blazing with the fury he could no longer contain.