The sky had turned a pale shade of black; the sun had already dipped below the horizon, revealing a few stars that glimmered faintly behind the veil of clouds.

From the neighbourhood came the gentle tinkling of bells, announcing the hour of evening prayer. The ladies, with pallu draped over their heads, walked through houses and corridors. Carved brass diyas cradled in their palms, the tiny flames flickering with each step they took.

Ira had completed the rituals a while ago, and now she sat cross-legged on a chair in the balcony of her house. Her unblinking gaze fixed at some invisible point in the distance, face carrying no particular emotion.

What must have happened? She didn't seem suicidal. For once, one can call me that, but, Nidhi...

"Ira!" Nakul's voice came from inside.

She blinked, but her lips remained shut.

"Ira! Where are you?!" His voice was louder this time. "I've something to show you."

She sat frozen, her shoulders rigid, her body present but her mind drifting somewhere far away.

The sound of Nakul's footsteps halted as he reached her, standing beside her with a proud smile and a small thick book in his hand.

"If, Aanand, women had not gone forth from household life into homelessness in the teaching and training proclaimed by the Realized One, the True Teaching would have lasted a long time - one thousand years," he read out loud, flipping to the next page. "But because women have gone forth... the True Teaching will not last long and will endure only five hundred years."

Ira closed her eyes, drawing in a silent breath, her fingers curling against the armrest of the chair.

He snapped the book shut and held it at his side. "And the prophecy turned out to be true." That familiar, irritating smile tugged at his lips. "As soon as women entered the monastic Sangha, it started to decline. Instead of the full 1000 years, the Dharma lasted for only 500, because their presence was a source of temptation for men."

Ira tilted her head, looking sharply at him. "Would you please let me live in peace for once?"

Nakul tossed the book lightly in the air, letting it spin before it landed back in his palms. "First admit that what I said is true."

Her jaw tightened, eyes closing briefly. "I'm in no mood to listen to your shit." She rose from the chair in a single swift movement. "Move!"

He stepped into her path, spreading his arms wide across the doorway, his chest puffed forward. "It's written text. Accept it, then I'll let you go."

Ira's fist lifted, trembling, her teeth grinding beneath pursed lips. "It declined not because women ruined the Dharma, but because men could not control their desires!" she spat. "Now move!" Shoving him hard by the shoulders, she forced her way past and disappeared into the house.

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The gurgle of running water filled the air as Rudraksh rinsed his right wrist beneath the cold stream trickling from the government tap at the corner. The porch light caught the tension in his face, throwing sharp shadows across his features.

Behind him, the road buzzed with movement - vehicles passing, vendors calling, voices colliding in a constant hum. Yet his mind stayed fixed on the event from a moment ago.

People seriously have no civic senses.

He twisted the tap shut and shook his hand briskly, scattering droplets into the night. Sliding it into his pocket, he pulled out a black handkerchief.

Out of habit, he pushed his casted hand forward and hissed through a muffled groan. "Fuck!" His left leg rose instinctively, ready to lash out at an unseen enemy, when a flicker of movement on the pavement caught his eye.

A woman, clutching her little son's wrist, stood frozen, glaring at him. Her lips curled in open disgust, and with a sharp tug she pulled the boy closer to her side, as if saying - shame on you for using language like that in front of a child.

Clearing his throat, Rudraksh lowered his leg and planted it quietly back on the ground. "Hello..." he muttered, lifting a hand in a small wave to the boy. The handkerchief dangled awkwardly from his fingers, a strained smile tugging at his mouth.

Throwing him one last disapproving glare, she strode past, pulling her child closer. "If you do not study, you will become like him."

Her whispered words fell into Rudraksh's ears, sharp enough to make him snap his head around. "Hey, what do you mean? I'm an engineer with an MBA degree."

But the woman kept walking, her back firm, leaving the rattle of his credentials to dissolve in the air behind her.

Rudraksh's lips pressed into a hard line, his cheeks puffing with indignation. "Hmph! I'm very much well-educated." With a quick jerk of his head, he marched on, letting his legs carry him wherever they wished.

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A stiff yawn stretched his mouth, and he covered it with the back of his hand. "Since how long am I walking on?" he muttered, darting his misted eyes around until they landed on a familiar board, half-hidden behind the scattered branches of a neem tree.

The glow of the LED lights and the porch lamp fell across the bold white letters.

His face tightened, fingers scratching the back of his head, as his gaze dropped from the board to the ground.

Should I... go?

A deep sigh slipped past his lips, his shoulders sagging. "Okay, let's give it a try?" he whispered to himself, walking inside the Integrative Wellness Centre.

The last time Rudraksh had been dragged here, he had not noticed any of this. He had stormed through the gates with his jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the place, the people, the very idea of being here.

Everything had blurred into white walls and unfamiliar faces, all stamped with the same irritating label in his mind - therapy.

But tonight... he noticed.

The gardens breathed quietly around him, damp with the scent of herbal grasses and giant trees. The lamps glowed amber along the pathways, outlining the trimmed hedges, throwing shadows of trees in the breeze. Voices floated through the night, fragments of murmurs and half-laughed conversations.

A group of patients shuffled along the veranda, their words slipping into the dark as they disappeared into a corner. Somewhere nearby, a yoga teacher spoke gently, his tone brushing against the occasional burst of laughter from a pair of interns.

The chaos of sound wove together with an odd serenity, neither noisy nor silent, just... alive.

Rudraksh's lips pressed together. Man, don't these people get insane dealing with these mentally retarded people? His gaze dropped to the gravel path at his feet. Wait. I'm not mentally retarded. I just have... he rubbed the back of his neck, a knot tightening in his chest, ...some little problems. Right?

The thought trailed off as he exhaled slowly, watching the mist of his breath dissolve into the night air. And for the first time, he felt the pull of this place - the strange blend of calm and chaos, of broken voices and healing silences - wrapping itself around him.

"Are you looking for someone, Mr?"

The voice yanked Rudraksh out of his spiraling thoughts.

A short man in a white kurta and pyjamas stood before him, clutching a book to his chest like a schoolboy protecting homework. His round face carried the calm of someone who had all the time in the world. "Do you have a family member here, whom you've come to meet?" he asked again, evenly.

"Umm..." Rudraksh licked his dry lips, blinking at him. "Is Dr. Tanvi Bajaj available today?"

The man tilted his head, studying him with clinical detachment. "What business do you have with her?"

"Some professional work," Rudraksh said, voice clipped.

"What kind of professional work?"

Rudraksh's jaw twitched. "A doctor-patient interaction."

"Are you the patient?" The man's eyes narrowed, examining him like a specimen under a microscope.

Rudraksh arched an eyebrow. "Are you the doctor?"

The man shook his head. "No."

"Then why are you asking?" Rudraksh leaned forward, arms folded.

"General knowledge." The man voice sounded flat, almost robotic.

Rudraksh let out a hollow chuckle. "My biography won't be on your interview."

"How do you know I'm preparing for an exam?" The man blinked at him.

"I don't," Rudraksh said flatly.

"Then how-"

"I guessed," Rudraksh snapped, jaw tightening. "Now, will you please shut up?"

"Why are you getting angry?" the man asked, tone still flat, almost bored.

"Because you're making me," Rudraksh ground out through clenched teeth.

"I'm helping you."

"Shut up!"

"You're very rude." The man scanned him from head to toe.

"Thank you," Rudraksh's jaw twitched. "Now, address, please."

The man shrugged. "Walk with me."

"Don-" Rudraksh began.

The man lifted a hand, palm steady. "I won't say a word. Promise."

Rudraksh threw his head back. "Good for you."

They walked ahead in silence until they stopped before Dr. Tanvi's cabin.

The short man still stood firm beside Rudraksh, clutching the book tight against his chest as if guarding a treasure.

"You can leave now." Rudraksh tilted his head at him.

"I'll stay." The man's eyes fixed at the closed door ahead.

"Why?" Rudraksh shook his head briefly.

"I don't trust you." The man's earlier flat tone still in place.

Rudraksh's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

The man turned fully to face him. "How do I know you won't burn this place down?"

"What-are you out of your-"

The sharp click of the door opening sliced Rudraksh's words in half. He turned, irritation dissolving into forced composure, as the calm woman stepped out.

"H-hello, doctor," Rudraksh greeted, lips tugging into an awkward smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Rudraksh?" Tanvi blinked once, then let a soft smile form. "Come in." She held the door open before her gaze shifted to the short man. "Mangal?" she asked gently.

Mangal looked at Tanvi. "This man," he pointed a finger at Rudraksh, "is very rude, doctor."

"Is he?" Tanvi's eyes flicked back to Rudraksh, amusement touching her calm expression.

Rudraksh clicked his tongue. "I was just passing by. Thought I'd check on you."

"That's so kind of you, Rudraksh. I'm perfectly fine. What about you?" She raised her eyebrows at his casted hand. "How's your hand?"

Rudraksh glanced at the white plaster, then back at her. "It's fine. Just one more week."

"Alright." Tanvi nodded and turned around.

Rudraksh followed, while Mangal drifted back toward the garden.

The door clicked shut behind them. Rudraksh sank into the sofa against the wall, while Tanvi wheeled herself toward her chair.

"That Mangal guy," Rudraksh began, "what kind of problems does he have?"

Dr. Tanvi sat, the chair rolling back a little as she rested her elbows on the armrests. Fingers laced beneath her chin, she asked, "Why do you think he has problems?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Rudraksh raised an eyebrow, straightening his back against the cushions.

Tanvi exhaled softly, picking up the paperweight that lay atop a stack of papers. "And... yours?" She held his gaze, the calm smile still steady. "Aren't they obvious, too?"

Rudraksh's eyes dropped at once, his brow twitching before he caught himself. His foot began tapping again, restless, betraying a rhythm he couldn't control.

"Rudraksh," Tanvi said gently, setting the paperweight back and folding her hands in her lap, "no one knows us better than we know ourselves. Deep down, the truth never hides - our wounds, the reasons for them, even the way out. It's all there, waiting. But most of the time, we look away. We deny it. That's just how we are."

Rudraksh's jaw clenched, then eased, his gaze pinned to a faint scratch on the floorboards. Anywhere but her face. A nerve flickered in his neck, but he held his silence.

The room seemed to wait with him. The clock ticked somewhere in the background, loud against the stillness. Tanvi shifted in her chair, the leather creaking softly, but her eyes stayed steady on him. The silence pressed down, heavy as a blanket, suffocating.

"I erupt... like a volcano," he said at last in a low, reluctant voice.

"Huh?" Tanvi arched her brows at him.

His focus shifted sharply, eyes locking onto the doctor's expectant face. "You asked me to notice," he went on in a steady tone, "when I get angry - I throw things; I want to hurt people, but cannot. I want to die, but cannot. So, I hurt myself."

His chest rose hard and uneven, breath breaking into ragged pulls. His fists clenched tight around the sofa's cushions, knuckles buried in the fabric as if holding himself back from shattering. "That's the least I can do... to calm myself."

Dr. Tanvi studied him for a long moment, then picked up her notebook laying on the table with a precise motion. "You said, you want to die. But cannot." She tapped the pen once on the paper. "What holds you back?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, scoffing. "My people." His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, but his jaw worked, a storm still trying to break loose. "But guess, I'm doing it anyway."

Tanvi didn't rush to fill the silence. She let his words settle, watching the way his shoulders curled inward, the way his hands gripped and released the sofa like anchors.

"You stay because of your people," she repeated softly, more a reflection than a question. "And, then you burn because of them."

She paused, watching the subtle changes in his posture. "Rudraksh... when you sit with this burning, do you want to talk it out? Or would you rather find ways to let your body rest - through quiet, through nature, through meditation?" Her gaze held his, continuing calmly, "It doesn't have to be one or the other. I only need to know, what feels possible for you?"

Rudraksh's throat worked, but no words came. He leaned back, fingers drumming restlessly against the cushion, then stopped, pressing his palms flat. as if to ground himself. "Talking..." he began, the word clipped and reluctant. "It feels like... opening wounds. I don't know if I can."

His eyes darted away, and silence filled the gap once again. He rubbed the back of his neck, and continued, "But staying quiet," he exhaled hard through his lips, "it eats me alive. Like I'm... locked in a room with fire, and no way out."

His jaw tightened, eyes fixed on a corner of the room. "So I don't know. Both... hurt."

Tanvi's gaze lingered at him for a long moment, then she closed her notebook gently. She didn't say anything. Instead, she rose from her chair and spoke with quiet resolve. "Come," she gestured toward the door, "walk with me."

Rudraksh hesitated, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but the calm insistence in her voice left little room for refusal. Slowly, he pushed himself up and followed.

Outside, the February night met them with its chill. The sky was ink-dark, a faint crescent moon smudged by drifting clouds. Their breaths fogged in the cold, vanishing quickly into the mist that clung to the garden paths.

On one side of the lawn, beneath the glow of lanterns strung along the trees, a small group sat cross-legged, their shawls wrapped tight, eyes closed. The hush of their breathing rose and fell in a quiet rhythm. Nearby, a few others huddled around a low table, laughing over a slow game of carrom, their laughter carrying softly in the night air.

"Look at them," Tanvi said, her voice low but steady. "They are no different from you. They burn too. But they've chosen to cool the fire."

She led him further along a stone path toward the darker side of the grounds. The air grew heavier, sounds breaking the stillness - shouts muffled by walls, the raw edge of crying, the dull thud of fists striking against doors. A nurse hurried past with a blanket in hand, urgency sharp in her expression.

"You wanted to know about Mangal, didn't you?" Tanvi clasped her hands behind her back as they walked.

Rudraksh tilted his head toward her before fixing his eyes back on the path.

"He was a brilliant student in school and college," she began, pausing to blink. "Then he sat for the UPSC exam... for ten years straight."

Rudraksh's eyebrows shot up.

"Sometimes he cleared prelims but failed in mains. Sometimes he reached the interview and fell short. And sometimes... nothing at all," she unloaded Mangal's story in an even tone. "The cycle kept repeating, until finally he lost his balance of mind."

She exhaled, lips pressing together before she turned to him with a soft smile. "Life is hard, isn't it? Everyone is carrying their share of hurdles, just trying to keep moving."

Rudraksh's steps slowed. His voice, calmer than he'd ever known it, broke the silence. "Is it wrong to feel crushed by your problems because someone else's are bigger, doctor?" There was a hint of tremble in his steady voice. "Is it childish, immature?"

Tanvi slowed too, matching his steps. For a moment, she let his question breathe in the air between them.

"Pain doesn't work like mathematics, Rudraksh," she said quietly. "It doesn't get smaller just because someone else's is bigger. What hurts you, hurts you - fully, completely. Comparing it won't make it disappear."

Her eyes lingered on him. "Feeling depressed doesn't make you childish. It makes you human. The mistake is not in feeling, but in thinking you must earn the right to feel."

She gave a faint, tired smile. "And, if people truly waited for the world to suffer less, before they allowed themselves to feel their own sorrow... no one would ever breathe."

"They're watching me! I told you-I told you! Stop looking-STOP LOOKING!"

Rudraksh faltered, breath catching in his chest. His eyes fixed on the barred windows, where shadows seemed to twitch and lunge.

On the open verandah of the ward, a man rocked violently, clutching his head. His voice tore into the night. "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LISTEN TO ME?!"

An attendant rushed forward, but the man shoved him away, nails scraping red streaks across his bald scalp.

Tanvi's voice cut softly through the chaos. "And here is the other choice. Those who fight the fire by letting it consume them."

She turned toward him, breath misting in the cold air. "If you want, Rudraksh, you can choose the first path. So you don't end up here."

A few feet away, a girl slumped against the wall, eyes wild. She clawed at her arms, muttering at first, then screaming, "Don't touch me. No-no, don't-DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Somewhere deeper in the ward, a woman's wail shredded the air. "No! Don't take him! Don't take my child! Give him back. Please! Please, give him back!" Her sobs cracked, echoing like glass shattering, before slipping into incoherent, desperate murmurs.

From a shadowed corner, a low, hollow laughter crawled over the room. A man crouched on his heels, grin stretched impossibly wide. "Ha... ha... ha... Independence. Freedom." The laugh had no joy, only a chilling rhythm, like someone who had stepped so far past pain that only madness was left to greet him.

"These people will eat my country! I FOUGHT those bloody Britishers for our Independence!" He slapped his thigh between gasps, chortling. "I will kill each one of you for troubling my mother. Ha! Ha! Ha! I will kill. Wait for me."

He stood frozen, breath misting sharply in the air. His chest seized, each scream and laugh hammering against his ribs. His eyes darted from face to face-anguish, collapse, hysteria. He saw himself in their brokenness: his clenched fists mirrored in theirs, his swallowed cries reborn in their screams, his own rage in that laughter.

They walked back from the ward slowly, the screams and laughter still chasing in the air behind them. The garden seemed almost unreal after that darkness - its lantern glow too soft, the quiet too gentle, like the world had split in two.

Rudraksh's steps were uneven. His right hand trembled at his side, the fingers twitching as if they were still gripping the sofa cushions in the cabin. He tried to curl them into a fist, but the shaking betrayed him.

They stopped by the banyan tree, where the faint hum of meditating voices drifted. Tanvi stood a little apart, giving him space, watching him without speaking.

Rudraksh's eyes stayed restless, never fixing on anything. The leaves, the lantern, the stone path - his gaze flitted over all of them but settled on none, as if he couldn't bear to hold onto the world in front of him. His chest rose sharply, then sank, his breath shallow.

"You don't have to speak." Her gaze drifted toward the lanterns glowing over the meditating group, then back to him. "What you saw tonight... It frightens you. Because it feels too close. Familiar."

She let that hang for a beat, watching his jaw tighten, his throat shift as if swallowing hard.

"And yet," she continued, her tone steady, "you also saw another choice. People who burn too, but find ways to cool their fire. That choice is open to you, Rudraksh. Always."

Her voice softened. "I cannot make it for you. But I can walk with you, if you want to take it."

He pressed his palm hard against his thigh to stop the shaking. "You showed me both sides," he muttered, voice breaking. "I don't... I don't want that second one."

Tanvi nodded. "Then what do you want, Rudraksh? Quiet conversations? Or the kind of silence that heals?"

He swallowed, the lump in his throat refusing to move. His eyes flicked to the banyan tree, where the patients sat cross-legged, lantern-light painting their still faces. "...Meditation," he whispered.

"You're sure?" Tanvi asked gently.

His lips pressed together, a small, almost desperate nod. "Yes. If it can keep me from... becoming like them." His hand lifted slightly, shaky, pointing back toward the cries behind the ward.

Tanvi's voice warmed, as though wrapping his brokenness in cloth. "Then meditation it is. We'll start after a week. Just you and nature, the breath, and a little faith. No one will rush you."

"But," she paused, taking in Rudraksh's confused looks. "You will have to stay here... like these people." She gestured toward the group enjoying their time with nature and people like them.

"How much time?" Rudraksh asked, a hint of doubt creeping in his voice.

The professional demeanor took over Tanvi's serene expression. "I'd suggest... four months. But you can try for two months, at least." She lifted a finger, gesturing sternly. "No phone, no laptop, no work. Only nature." She locked her eyes with his, and asked calmly, "Can you do that?"

For the first time, Rudraksh's shoulders eased, and he nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Don't thank me." Tanvi's eyes softened. "Thank yourself. You made the choice.

He gave her a fleeting look, something between disbelief and gratitude, then turned toward the retreat gate. Each step carried hesitation, yet also a strange lightness, as if the weight on his chest had loosened a notch.

From the garden, Tanvi's eyes followed him, steady and calm. "God bless you, child."

A/N: Woosh...🤧 On his very 25th birthday. Finally, Rudraksh agreed for his healing process.