Pranam: A respectful Hindi greeting meaning "I bow to you" or "salutation".

Khush rho: A colloquial phrase meaning "stay happy" or "be happy".

Mohanthal: A traditional Rajasthani sweet made from gram flour, ghee, and sugar.

-*-*-

Rudraksh, in his black woolen night pajamas, sprawled across the sofa, legs draped over Vardhaman's lap, eyes fixed on the cricket match. The warm light overhead painted his face in gold, highlighting the sharpness of his features. The same face that once teased and cracked jokes, lighting up with heartfelt laughter, was now too still, too guarded.

Sitting on the floor in white woolen night pajamas, Vardhaman quietly unwrapped the bandages from his brother's feet. His fingers moved with a care born of both habit and fear - fear of hurting him, of saying something that might make him retreat further into silence.

"Bhaiya, tell me if it hurts, okay?" he whispered, glancing up briefly.

"Hm." Rudraksh didn't look away from the screen, chewing absently on his lower lip.

A faint smile tugged at Vardhaman's lips as he lowered his gaze back to his work. He had seen this countless times - his brother lost in the rhythm of a match, as though the clatter of bats and the cheer of the crowd could drown out the noise in his head. Maybe that was why he watched so much cricket lately; maybe in someone else's victory, he could forget his own losses.

Vardhaman's hands slowed as he set the bandages aside and sighed softly.

If silence was the only way his brother allowed love, then silence would have to be enough.

Silence, and the chance to care for him.

"Rudraksh! Rudraksh!"

Rudraksh's eyes flickered, and he started to shift on the sofa, as if to respond to the call, but Vardhaman rested a hand lightly on his feet, holding him back.

Rudraksh hesitated, jaw tight, then gave a short nod and returned his gaze to the flickering TV screen.

With a quiet sigh, Vardhaman rose and stepped toward the door himself, a soft, polite smile curving his lips, silently taking the task upon himself while his brother relaxed.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

"Oh, bhaiya," Vardhaman greeted warmly. "Please come in. Rudraksh bhaiya is in the living room."

Siddharth, in a white blazer and black trousers, approached with an affectionate smile and pulled him into a side hug. "How are you, Maan? How's your studying going?"

Vardhaman returned the hug, smiling. "I'm good, Bhaiya." His eyes flickered toward the third man, and his composure wavered.

Karan's jaw was tight, his face flushed as he stepped forward in a thin, red hoodie and black jeans. "Siddharth, we don't have time for pleasantries." His hand landed on Vardhaman's head, a rough but not unkind pat. "Sorry, buddy. Just a little frustrated."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode inside, leaving Siddharth behind with a weary sigh.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

"Rudrak-!" Karan's words caught in his throat as his gaze swept over Rudraksh's battered frame.

Rudraksh flicked his eyes toward him before turning back to the TV screen.

"Rudraksh!" Karan rushed forward. "What happened?! Why didn't you tell us?!" The words tumbled out one after another.

Siddharth, who had just arrived, looked as shocked as Karan but couldn't find his voice.

Karan, desperate to fill the silence Rudraksh refused to break, finally asked, "Is it because of the demotion?"

Rudraksh stayed still, lips pressed shut. It wasn't hard to tell that he didn't want to hear, pretending not to catch the question over the sound of the cricket commentary.

Karan stared at him, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. "Then it must be because of that b*tch, isn't it?"

The room froze. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

Rudraksh's stare remained locked on the flickering screen, but the muscle in his jaw twitched, betraying the storm he wouldn't release. His fingers tightened around the TV remote, knuckles whitening.

"Think before you speak, Karan," Siddharth said lightly.

Karan snapped his head toward him, fury flashing across his face. "Yes, tell me. Go on. It's always me who's wrong, right? You'll never point at him. Never! He's your childhood buddy, after all. Who am I? No one."

"Karan-" Siddharth reached for his shoulder, but Karan shoved his hand away.

Inhaling deeply, Siddharth tried again, quieter this time. "We're all friends, Karan. You're my best buddy too. I care for you the same way I care for Rudraksh. All I meant was, don't throw words you cannot take back."

Karan's face twisted, trembling with restrained anger. His gaze flickered between the two - Siddharth, whose eyes pleaded for understanding, and Rudraksh, who seemed detached from the world around him. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out.

Rudraksh, jaw clenched tightly, pressed the buttons with the fury of an old grudge, flipping through channels.

Vardhaman and Siddharth exchanged a glance. Neither knew where to turn first, whom to reach for, or whether anything they said would matter anymore.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, until-

Rudraksh tried to rise from the sofa, his movements slow and deliberate. He limped toward the stairs, fingers curling tightly around the railing, each step taken with quiet defiance, as if daring the world to challenge him.

Vardhaman twitched his hand forward, then let it fall uselessly to his side. His eyes followed Rudraksh, heavy with unspoken worry, before shifting toward Siddharth.

Siddharth, too, watched his friend's every movement with a calm, unreadable expression. Then, slowly, a faint smile curved his lips, giving nothing away, yet carrying the weight of quiet patience.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

As soon as Ira stepped inside the house, her gaze fell on a pair of dusty shoes, and a warm smile curved her lips. Stepping out of her slippers, she felt the cool cement floor beneath her feet and padded forward softly.

Her ears perked up at the murmur of voices drifting from one of the rooms. Curiosity stirred, and she followed the sound with quiet steps.

"Here comes my brother!" Nakul exclaimed.

"Pranam, Bhaiya!" Ira greeted with a sheepish smile.

Nakul pulled her into a tight side hug. "Khush raho, khush raho!"

Ira pulled away from Nakul's warm embrace and skipped toward the bed. Her eyes scanned the surface until they landed on Nakul's bag. She plopped down beside it, hands diving eagerly into its depths.

"Mohanthal!" she exclaimed, pulling out a box of one of her favorite sweets. She picked up a piece, ready to pop it into her mouth-

Vaidehi's hand shot out, lightly slapping her wrist. "First bite for God, then you may eat."

Ira's face fell, her lips pressing into a thin line before she smiled again. Carefully placing the sweet back in the box, she rubbed her fingers together, trying to get rid of the stickiness.

Vaidehi flicked Ira's forehead, making her jump in frustration.

"What now?" Ira groaned, twisting her face.

Vaidehi pointed toward the sink, her eyes stern. "Go wash your hands properly. God knows when you'll learn to behave."

Ira rolled her eyes good-naturedly and trudged toward the sink.

The sound of running water filled the hall, and her muttering followed as she scrubbed her hands clean. "Who washes hands every other minute in this freezing winter?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening!" Vaidehi called out, eyes fixed on her daughter's rebellious antics.

Raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips into a playful pout, Ira shot her mother a contorted look over her shoulder.

Vaidehi returned a stern glance. "And why don't you wear warm clothes? It's almost the end of November."

"It was warm outside today," Ira retorted, returning to her task.

Vaidehi's expression hardened at her daughter's reply. She wagged a finger, scolding with a trembling smile. "Zip your lips and do as you're told."

Ira rolled her eyes again, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she threw her mother a playful glare.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Rudraksh's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the logo of his company on the laptop screen: ᎥᎷᏗᎶᎥᏁᏗᏖᎥᎧᏁ. His bandaged right palm and stitched forehead throbbed in sync with his heartbeat.

He scrolled through the updated organizational chart - his name now listed as junior manager in his own company, just another team member.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

With deliberate slowness, he began to type, his left hand moving with practiced ease. His right hand rested lightly on his thigh, a constant reminder of his temporary limitations.

The mattress gave a quiet creak as he leaned back against the headboard, eyes fixed on the screen. The fading light of dusk, from the balcony, brushed over his face, tracing the tension carved into his features. Still, his focus held steady, his mind already weaving the strategies to win back what was once his.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Outside Rudraksh's room, Vardhaman stood, his fingers twitching restlessly. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, only to pull it back just as quickly.

What if Bhaiya shouts at me? What if he doesn't even talk to me?

The thoughts spun in his head, leaving him more frustrated and helpless than before. His eyes darted nervously around the hallway, as though searching for an escape. He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his mind refused to quiet.

Argh... why am I stuck in this mess when I've got nothing to do with it?

Just as the anxiety began to tighten around his chest-

"Maan?"

Vardhaman flinched, his eyes widening. "B-Bhaiya?" he stammered.

"The door's open. You can come in."

Rudraksh's tone was calm and measured, yet each word felt like a spark against Vardhaman's already frayed nerves.

His heart pounded so fast it felt like it might break free from his chest, like a bullet train racing out of control, with no hope of slowing down.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Rudraksh was lying calmly on the bed, his left hand tucked behind his head for support while his right hung loosely by his side. His back rested against the pillows propped between him and the headboard.

"B-Bhaiya, yo-your foot," Vardhaman gestured toward Rudraksh's half-bandaged foot.

Rudraksh's gaze followed his brother's gesture, settling on the injury before returning to Vardhaman's anxious face.

With a small nod, he acknowledged his concern.

Vardhaman's eyes lingered on Rudraksh's face, searching for any trace of anger or frustration, but his expression remained serene.

The silence between them stretched long, yet it no longer felt oppressive. A small flicker of hope stirred in Vardhaman's chest - maybe, just maybe, he could navigate this moment without a misstep or upsetting his elder brother, his quiet hero.

He stepped closer to the bed, each movement measured, eyes fixed on Rudraksh's injured foot. As he lowered himself beside his brother, the mattress dipped softly.

Setting the laptop aside, Rudraksh extended his feet onto Vardhaman's lap, eyes fixed on his brother.

Vardhaman adjusted himself carefully, wary of causing any discomfort, and began to unwrap the already loosened bandages. "It's been more than a week." His eyes remained fixed on the bandages, careful not to meet Rudraksh's gaze directly. "Your foot wounds are almost healed. Do you still feel pain?"

Rudraksh's lips curved into a half-smile, but beneath it, his mind churned with turbulent thoughts:

Is this what being a man means - pretending I'm fine when I'm breaking inside? Would anyone even understand if I say I'm not okay? How long can I keep this act up before something inside me finally gives way? If I tell Maan how much it actually hurts, will he pity me... or lose respect for me? And why does it feel so wrong to just admit that I'm tired - not from pain, but from holding everything in?

He forced a wider smile, shaking his head slightly, and broke the silence, trying to muster his once-familiar tone. "How are things at your college, Maan? Anyone troubling you? Just tell me their names, and I'll handle them."

A dry chuckle escaped Vardhaman as he looked up. "Bhaiya, I know I'm younger, but I'm not stupid." His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it. "I know you're hurting. So please... please don't hide it behind that fake smile."

Rudraksh's eyelashes fluttered, and his throat bobbed. For a moment, time seemed to pause. Then he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek, struggling to compose himself. Without realizing it, a smile tugged at his lips, one that actually reached his eyes.

But instead of comforting Vardhaman, it only seemed to unravel him.

When Rudraksh's gaze returned to him, he saw tears pooling in his brother's eyes. A pang of guilt struck him - he had never truly let Vardhaman in. His eyebrows knitted, and almost instinctively, he pulled his brother into a warm embrace, laughing softly at the absurdity of the moment.

"Y-you... you're so... so bad! I-I won't... talk to you!" Vardhaman's chest heaved with each hiccup, words tumbling out between gasps. "You... you... why don't you tell me anything? I'm not a kid! I'm eighteen years old!"

Rudraksh tried to soothe him, gently stroking his hair and back, though the corners of his pressed lips trembled as he struggled to hold back laughter.

Vardhaman's face turned beet red, and he screamed, "Don't show your vampire-like teeth! You look like a Halloween pumpkin!"

"He-he-ha-ha!" Tears pricked at the corners of Rudraksh's eyes as his shoulders shook, his laughter growing even more hysterical. "You look like a rotten tomato, Maan!" he teased.

Vardhaman shot back, "And you look like a madman with that ugly laugh, Rudrak-!" His grin faltered mid-word.

Rudraksh's expression turned stern, one eyebrow arching sharply.

Vardhaman scrambled to backpedal. "Bhaiya! I-I meant Bhaiya! You must have misheard!"

A smirk tugged at Rudraksh's lips at the mix of fear and respect in his brother's eyes. He reached out, grabbed Vardhaman's leg, and yanked him closer. Leaning over him, Rudraksh's fingers darted across his abdomen, tickling without mercy.

"Rudraksh, huh?"

"Sorry, Bhaiya! Sorry... it just slipped out!" Vardhaman's words tumbled between giggles, tears pricking his eyes as he tried and failed to fend off the tickling.

With one swuft motion, he launched himself at Rudraksh, sending pillows flying through the air. The two brothers crashed onto the bed, wrestling, laughing, and shouting as their chaotic pillow fight raged on.

"Maan, easy! I'll get hurt!" Rudraksh cried between laughs, but Vardhaman was unstoppable.

With one final toss, still chuckling, Vardhaman shouted, "You deserve this! Do you have any idea how tough it was without you? I never got to live with you! All I had was that annoying sister! And when you came back... you left again!"

The pillow smacked Rudraksh squarely in the face. He flopped back dramatically onto the bed, laughter spilling uncontrollably.

Vardhaman collapsed beside him, still grinning. The two lay there, breathless and happy, surrounded by the aftermath of their pillow war.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

The late November night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Streetlights bathed the deserted sidewalk in a warm, golden glow, where Karan sat on the bench – head bowed, hands clasped together in a loose triangle.

A cool breeze drifted through the park, brushing past him, carrying the faint sweetness of blooming flowers and the distant chirping of birds. It tugged playfully at his hair, as if debating whether to smooth it or tangle it further, much like the chaos twisting inside his mind.

"Karan!" His name cut through the quiet, but he didn’t flinch. He was lost, adrift in a tangle of thoughts and worries.

"Karan! C’mon, man, we’re buddies…" The familiar voice reached him through a fog of introspection, distant yet insistent.

His gaze remained fixed on some invisible point on the ground. Leaves rustled in the trees above, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.

"Karan!" The voice came again, sharper this time, nudging him from his reverie.

Slowly, his eyes lifted toward the sound, and his lips curved into a faint smile – a smile that carried understanding deeper than words. His hand, still held in that quiet triangle, lifted slightly, beckoning the person closer.

Sensing the shift in Karan’s demeanor, the man smiled to himself and approached. He slipped his hands into his pockets, a casual gesture that contrasted with the tension in the air. The soft, measured sound of his footsteps echoed through the stillness.

When he sat beside Karan, the bench creaked in gentle protest. Karan’s gaze dropped back to the ground, lost in thought. The man didn’t speak; he simply stayed there, his steady presence a quiet comfort that seemed to ease the weight between them.

"I… I’m sorry, Siddharth." The words slipped from Karan’s lips in a soft whisper.

Siddharth’s eyes studied Karan’s, reading the quiet recognition of the vulnerability he so carefully hid beneath his rugged exterior. It was a paradox Siddharth had always found fascinating – hard and unyielding on the outside, yet soft and tender within, like a coconut.

Karan’s shoulders, tense for so long, eased. His eyes, once cast downward, finally lifted to meet Siddharth’s gaze. "I’m sorry, truly."

Siddharth’s breath misted in the chilly air as he spoke. "Karan, your anger is like a firework – it erupts with intense fervor, illuminating the surroundings with its fierce passion, yet its brilliance is fleeting, leaving behind only a faint echo of its former intensity."

Karan’s eyebrows furrowed, confusion and a flicker of frustration crossing his features.

Siddharth raised his eyebrows, amusement dancing in his eyes. "What?" His lips pursed like a rosebud ready to bloom.

Karan’s hand shot out, resting firmly on Siddharth’s shoulder, fingers gripping gently. "Sid… could you please say that in a language we normal humans can understand without making me think otherwise?"

Siddharth stared at him, lips pressed together, the only sound the soft hum of the night around them. He clicked his tongue before a private smile tugged at his lips, and a chuckle slipped out. "You know, Karan… sometimes I really think you’ve swapped souls with Rudraksh."

Karan removed his hand, a reminiscent smile playing on his lips. "Yeah… he can be really sassy and sarcastic at times. Makes you feel like smacking his ass."

Siddharth chuckled again, low and heartfelt, and the sound made Karan laugh in turn.

Shifting slightly on the bench to face him better, Karan’s voice brightened, carrying a mixture of awe and unease. "But you know what, Sid? I really feel dumb around you two sometimes. Like I’m sitting between Mirza Ghalib with all his poetry, and Swami Vivekananda with all his philosophy." His tone was light, but underneath lingered a quiet sadness, like a shadow too persistent to ignore.

Siddharth’s eyebrows furrowed at Karan’s words of quiet envy. With a reassuring smile, he draped a hand over Karan’s shoulder. "Why do you think you’re any less?" His voice softened, carrying the steady authority of an elder brother. "You’re a great artist, Karan. The designs you’ve created… they’re remarkable."

Karan’s eyes flickered toward him, a half-smile tugging at his lips before they returned to the ground.

Siddharth continued in his usual calm, grounding tone. "Hold your chin high, boy. You’ve got this. Both of you work so hard, and I’m certain – one day, success will find you."

Karan’s expression soured, and he murmured, "But… Rudraksh…"

The mention of Rudraksh softened Siddharth’s features. He tightened his arm around Karan’s shoulder, letting the warmth of his presence press gently against him in the chilly night. "He’s always been like that, Karan. You know it too. Give him some time… he’ll come back to you."

Karan turned his head, their eyes locking, a long, searching look passing between them.

Siddharth took the cue, never breaking eye contact, and continued, his voice steady and patient…

A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you're all cozy and warm this winter, with a soothing cup of coffee, tea, or soup to keep you company.

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

1. Are you enjoying the story so far?

2. The characters are still unfolding, but I'm curious to know: who's your favorite character at this point?