As Siddharth stepped into the empty living room, his eyes swept across the space, taking in the eerie silence that had settled there. Yet the corners still seemed to echo with Rudraksh's screams.

"Karan?" he whispered, blinking. "Did he leave?"

His eyes widened. In the next instant, he sprinted toward the main door, fishing his car keys out of the pocket of his black pants.

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The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the faint darkness had swallowed the surroundings in its cold embrace. A gust of wind swept across his blue-hooded face. Yet, his eyes remained frozen, fixed on a distant spot with a gaze that could pierce through walls.

"Karan?!"

Karan's fingers twitched slightly at the sound of the familiar voice, but he remained seated, his body language closed off.

The sounds of urgent footsteps and ragged breathing came to a halt. "I knew you'd be here!" A faint smile spread across Siddharth's face. "C'mon, let's go hom—"

"He raised his hands on me, Siddharth." Karan whispered. "For the second time. With so much hate." His throat tightened, a lump forming that he struggled to swallow. "F-for a bitch who doesn't even think twice before changing arms like people change clothes."

A single tear slipped from his left eye, tracing a path down his flushed, clean-shaven cheek. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the bench, clinging to it like it was the last thread holding him together.

Siddharth's lips parted, his throat dry, his hands falling loosely by his sides, as he stared at Karan.

Karan is crying? Karan is crying. Karan? How? When? Why? Karan doesn't cry. He shouts, he screams, he punches. But... he's human. What are you even thinking, Siddharth?! Help him.

"Karan?" Siddharth's voice came out soft, barely audible. He stepped forward and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder in a cautious gesture, as if afraid of startling him.

"Karan... Rudraksh wasn't in his right mind at that moment. There was so much going on inside his head, and... it just happened." He searched Karan's face, desperate for a flicker of understanding.

But there was only silence.

Siddharth pressed his lips together, forcing a faint smile as he squeezed Karan's shoulder. "You saw, he even lashed out at me." A small, shaky chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. "He was looking dangerous, wasn't he? Totally living up to his name – Rudraksh."

Karan didn't respond. His face remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the ground, eyes boring into it as though he could drill a hole through the earth.

Siddharth lowered his head, his chin tucked in as he exhaled deeply. "For how long have you known Rudraksh?"

"Fifteen years," Karan whispered dryly.

"And in those fifteen years... how many times have you both fought like this?"

Karan's gaze lifted slightly. He turned to Siddharth, meeting his amused expression. "We always used to patch up after a long talk." His focus drifted back to the ground.

"But this time, it's different," he continued, his voice cracking. "He looked at me with so-so much hate and loathing, as if I'm the sole reason for all his suffering."

Siddharth opened his mouth to speak—

—but Karan cut him off. "And it's not my fault this time. I'm ready to talk. But he only wants a fist conversation." His face twisted in a scowl, like a child complaining to his mother about his brother's wrongs being pinned on him.

Siddharth tilted his head, studying Karan's furious face. "But he didn't hit you, did he? Instead, he broke down before you."

Karan shot him a sharp glare from the corner of his eyes. "Are you defending your childhood best friend's not-so-welcoming behavior, Barrister Siddharth Solanki?" His tone was steady yet stern. "I could have died!" He leaned closer, eyes wide. "This close—this close that Volcano's stone fist was to my nose!"

Siddharth patted Karan's back with an awkward chuckle. "Every part of you knows, Karan, that Rudraksh would never hurt you... intentionally."

"And unintentionally?"

Siddharth's expression faltered, but Karan continued quietly, "He could kill anyone in rage just like that. He needs serious help."

A heavy silence fell between them.

Siddharth's eyes wandered to the distant mango tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. "Tomorrow, Rudraksh will be going in for a full body check-up. Will you come?" he asked calmly.

"No!"

Siddharth nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the tree. "Okay," he whispered.

Karan rose abruptly, his long strides eating up the distance between the bench and Siddharth's car. The door clicked faintly as he got inside, slamming it shut with a dull thud.

Siddharth watched him go, arms folded across his chest. He walked to the car with measured steps, his eyes lingering on Karan's profile through the windshield.

"Both are worse than kids," he muttered under his breath.

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Rudraksh, dressed in grey joggers and a white shirt, sat in a worn-out wooden chair. His casted wrist rested gingerly against his chest as he shifted uncomfortably. His other hand hovered over a clipboard, the pen scratching out a hesitant signature.

Siddharth stood silently beside him, arms folded across his crisp white blazer, his eyes trailing over the form with quiet attentiveness.

Antara sat nearby, her face pale and pinched, eyes darting anxiously between her brother's hands and his expressionless face. The thick cream-colored sweater she wore over her yellow saree seemed to swallow her whole.

The doctor entered, holding a file in his hand, his voice professional. "Vitals stabilized overnight," he said, flipping through Rudraksh's chart. "The IV helped. Now, we'll do what should have been done two days ago."

Rudraksh's jaw tightened, though his face remained unreadable. He gave a curt nod and handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

The nurse rolled a tray beside his chair, checking the syringe. Rudraksh silently extended his arm. She swabbed his inner elbow with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

As the needle slid in, Antara turned her head away, while Rudraksh kept his eyes fixed on the procedure, watching as dark blood flowed steadily into the waiting vials.

The doctor glanced toward Siddharth and spoke evenly, "We're running a full panel – CBC, liver, kidney, sugar, cortisol, electrolytes. I want to rule out post-trauma complications. He hasn't been eating properly. If iron or cortisol levels are depleted, that alone could explain the dizziness and weakness."

Siddharth's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the words. "You suspect stress-induced shock?" he asked, his voice low and even.

"Possibly. We'll know more by afternoon." The doctor gestured toward the hallway. "Let's proceed to radiology."

Walking through the corridor, they stopped in front of a room where a male technician in his early thirties waited beside a gleaming CT scan machine. Its cold, clinical presence seemed to fill the room, its sleek surface reflecting the fluorescent lights above.

Rudraksh stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. Antara reached out to adjust the sling on his arm, her fingers hovering uncertainly before gently straightening the strap near his shoulder.

"I'm okay," Rudraksh murmured, looking at his sister's puffy eyes.

Antara swallowed hard and nodded, her eyes welling up. She met his gaze for a brief moment before looking away, her eyes drifting to the floor.

The technician, a man with a kind face and a professional calmness, offered a small smile as he prepared the machine. "Let's get you positioned correctly, Mr. Rudraksh."

"Focus on the frontal cortex and the left parietal region," the doctor instructed. "We're checking for concussion. He had repeated head impact and emotional strain."

Rudraksh lay down on the cold table, his movements slow and careful, as the technician adjusted the machine around him.

The machine's arm lowered, its quiet hum intensifying as the technician worked. "Just stay still," he said calmly. "A few minutes, no movement."

The circular scanner began its slow rotation, the soft mechanical whirr echoing in Rudraksh's skull. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. The buzz, the cold air wafting through the machine, and the faint rhythmic beeps merged into a dull drone.

Minutes passed.

Finally, the hum softened and faded. "All done," the technician announced. "You can sit up."

Rudraksh opened his eyes, blinking slowly against the sudden stillness. He sat up with careful movements as the technician helped him off the table.

A nurse reappeared, guiding them toward the orthopedic unit at the far end of the clinic.

The scent in the unit was distinct – a mix of plaster, talcum, and the sharp chemical smell of casting material. The technician gently began undoing Rudraksh's sling, the soft rip of Velcro releasing the tension on his shoulder.

His arm felt lighter, freer, as the sling came away.

The orthopedic consultant scanned the latest X-rays pinned under the lightbox, his eyes narrowing as he studied the images. "We'll re-cast it," he said firmly. "No surgery needed, just stabilization." He turned to Rudraksh, his expression serious. "But your body," he added, tapping the chart, "needs food, water, and rest. You're dangerously depleted."

Antara exhaled shakily. "S-so the bone will heal?"

The consultant nodded, his expression confident. "Yes. Function will return. Just follow the instructions."

With practiced hands, he and the technician began re-casting Rudraksh's wrist. The fresh material smelled sharp and dry, like chalk mixed with chemical glue, filling the air with its pungent aroma. Rudraksh remained stoic, his lips pressed together, his eyes fixed on a distant point.

Minutes passed as the new cast hardened, snug and precise. At last, the consultant stepped back, inspecting it with a critical eye. "He's set for now," he said with a gentle smile.

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The chilly air vibrated with the excited voices of kids playing cricket in the narrow street, their shouts and laughter mingling with the sharp crack of bats striking the ball. Women sat on their doorsteps, chatting in hushed tones as they peeled pea pods. The baskets beside them were half-filled with fresh green peas, while the other half seemed to overflow with whispered gossip.

From a nearby house, upbeat Bollywood wedding songs blared through the speakers, echoing off the walls and spilling into the street:

Mehndi laga ke rakhna, doli saja ke rakhna~(Apply henna, decorate the palanquin~)

Lene tujhe o gori, aayenge tere sajna~(To take you away, o dear, your beloved will come~)

Navya's high-pitched voice soared above the din as she clapped her hands and danced to the beat.

The sleeves of Nidhi's pink jacket slid down as she raised her arms, shoving her forefingers into her ears with a contorted face.

Ira walked with a straight face, her hands folded across her maroon jacket, her blue jeans-clad legs measuring the road with steady steps.

Why did I agree to come along? I could've stayed wrapped in a warm blanket.

Behind them, Navya trailed along, her vibrant mustard-yellow salwar and green Patiala a stark contrast to the dull street. Her green dupatta fluttered behind her, and her loose hair swirled around her face as she danced to the next beat, singing along:

Tujhko na dulha banaungi, chahe kanwari mar jaungi~(I won't make you my groom, even if I die a spinster~)

The women watching from their doorsteps chuckled at Navya's impromptu dance, their faces creasing with smiles. One of them, an elderly woman with a wrinkled face, nodded her head, her eyes twinkling. "Aye, beta, a little more!" she encouraged, clapping her hands in rhythm with Navya's beat.

Navya's smile widened as she danced, the street's atmosphere transforming into a joyful cacophony that seemed to lift everyone's spirits.

Tere liye launga bindiya chand sitaaron ki~ (For you, I will bring a forehead ornament of the moon and stars~)

The kids' laughter and shouts filled the air as they abandoned their games to join Navya's impromptu dance party.

Pehnaunga chunar mai tujhko naye baharon ki~(I will adorn you with a cloak of new springtimes~)

They formed a circle around her, their small feet tapping out a rhythm on the dusty ground.

Ira and Nidhi watched from the steps of the nearby house, their faces glowing with warm smiles. They stood with arms folded across their chests, knees slightly bent, exuding an easy, relaxed air.

When the song came to an end, Navya bid the kids a cheerful goodbye, waving a hand in farewell. "Bye-bye, everyone! Take care!" With a final smile, she turned and walked forward, falling into step beside Ira and Nidhi.

The three of them strolled along, the warm sunlight casting long shadows behind them.

Navya flung her arms around Ira and Nidhi's shoulders, her round eyes sparkling and a wide grin spreading across her face. "Guys! What kind of life partners do you both want?!" Her head bobbed between them like a pendulum.

Nidhi turned her head toward her. "First, behave like a human, not a monkey," she scolded in a low tone.

Navya's arms dropped to her sides, and she pouted. Her fingers fidgeted with the green border of her yellow dupatta, tracing its rough edge. "Okay. Now tell," she insisted, her voice still bubbly despite Nidhi's warning.

Nidhi shrugged. "Whoever is written in my destiny will come to me. Why bother assuming things?"

Navya twisted her lips. "Huh! Stone." She turned her face aside, her gaze lingering on Ira's calm, unreadable expression. "Ira, what's your opinion?" she asked softly, studying her.

Ira's eyes followed the jagged edges of the potholes on the road, her gaze tracing the crumbling asphalt as she replied quietly, "I have a lot of things on my mind to think about. And this definitely isn't on the list."

A stiffened chuckle escaped Nidhi's throat and she clapped lightly on Ira's shoulder.

Navya blinked, her expression shifting from excitement to confusion. She planted her hands on her hips. "Are you both allergic to marriage and love or what? Why such cruel answers?"

"That's called being realistic, not cruel," Ira replied flatly.

Nidhi's laughter erupted again, louder this time. "The girl's in the mood for roasting today," she teased, patting Ira's back. "The transformation is showing its magic."

Ira's lips twitched slightly as she kept walking.

Navya's smile faded into a small pout. "But I really liked your long hair. You used to look like an angel."

"Do I look like a demon now?" Ira asked calmly, without turning.

Nidhi's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned forward, deftly tugging the lace cap off Ira's head. The fabric slid down, revealing her armpit-length hair, which swayed gently in the breeze like a quiet dance.

"You look mature," Nidhi said softly.

Navya's face brightened again. "You... you look more serious now. But still too cute." She reached out and gently squeezed Ira's cheeks.

Ira's gaze flickered to Navya's face, holding there for a noticeable moment before drifting back to the road.

The three girls continued walking in silence, the only sound being the distant music floating from nearby houses. Navya hummed along, her voice occasionally rising as she sang snippets of the song.

"Why do you despise love and marriage so much?" Nidhi asked, tilting her head.

Ira's eyebrows furrowed as she traced the jagged edge of a crack on the road. "Let's not talk about love. That's not my thing. Marriage?" She paused, her shoulders shifting slightly as she took a deep breath. "People shouldn't take responsibility for something they're not ready to carry on with."

Navya absently scratched the back of her head, her nose scrunching up as she gazed up at the swaying branches of a nearby tree.

"Can you elaborate a bit more?" Nidhi asked calmly.

Ira's expression turned thoughtful, her eyes fixed on the distance as she pondered Nidhi's question.

"Marriage isn't just about two people liking each other, having sweet talks, clinging like leeches, or doing ridiculous things to impress one another," Ira said in a steady voice. "Marriage comes with a very big responsibility, one most people fail to fulfill. Because for them, it's a fairytale where the prince and princess meet, and everything's done. Happy ending."

Her gaze drifted toward the fields on either side of the road, her eyes tracing the dew glistening on the lush greenery.

"All those sweet talks, that so-called love – it all fades when responsibilities start showing up," she continued, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "Expenses, kids, chores, jobs… then relatives' nonsense, in-laws' taunts, neighbors' interference. The spark dies. That blindfold of illusion, those fairytale dreams – all vanish."

She drew a deep breath, her arms tightening around her body. "And then they realize… this is out of syllabus. That's when the real marriage begins – fighting, yelling, arguing, depression, suicide, murder. People forget they have kids to raise. And the kids… they grow up in fear, afraid of waking up to find only one parent alive, or worse, as an orphan."

Her eyes seemed to glaze over, her vision blurring as she lifted her chin toward the sky. The sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling soothed her wandering mind.

"Marriage is scary," she said finally, her voice firm. "Aloofness is peaceful."

Silence followed, not suffocating, but introspective. Each girl was lost in her thoughts, quietly processing the depth of Ira's words.

Then, in almost a whisper, Nidhi broke the stillness. "What you're saying… is true. I've seen that too."

Nidhi’s eyes drifted into the distance, her brows furrowing. Her lips parted slightly as she continued, "But… you can’t blame marriage for all these things. Like every coin has two sides, every person has two faces — marriage is no different."

Ira’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Nidhi, her lips pressed together.

Navya walked closer to Nidhi, her eyes wide with interest. Her lips parted as she listened intently, head tilted to one side.

Nidhi's gaze shifted between Ira and Navya before turning back to the winding road ahead. "I've noticed some things that are very common in failed and miserable marriages," she said, her voice muffled slightly by the gusting wind. "First and foremost, it depends on your partner. And, to make it worse, most of the time, they're chosen by our parents, relatives, even distant ones – who don't have the slightest idea of our favorite ice cream flavor."

She shut her eyes briefly and exhaled through her lips. "We'll talk about that later. For now, let's focus on the marriage part."

She inhaled sharply and went on, "Immature partners with absolutely zero understanding of what marriage means; too much interference from neighbors, relatives, and whoever else. Talking behind each other's backs instead of talking to each other. Escalating fights out of ego just to win an argument, instead of focusing on the problem and finding its solution. Trusting a third person more than your own spouse. Treating kids like a punching bag – whenever one's angry, they pour it out on them and walk away."

Nidhi exhaled deeply. "Actually, marriage isn't scary, people are," she concluded. "So, choose your partners wisely, and live happily."

Ira and Navya stood quietly, absorbing her words, their faces thoughtful.

"A good life partner is found by luck, not by searching for one," Ira whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Do you believe in destiny?" Nidhi's calm voice broke the silence as they continued walking.

"Not a hundred percent," Ira replied flatly, "but when it comes to bigger things – yes."

Navya chimed in, her voice light and carefree. "You both think too much!" She scrunched her nose, her face twisting into a playful grimace.

Nidhi's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting to Ira's profile. "Elaborate?"

Ira lifted her chin, her eyes drifting toward the black clouds hovering above. "Like… we don't have any control over our birth, family, state, or country," she began in a measured tone. "And you can't deny that these factors affect one's life majorly," she ticked off points on her fingers, "upbringing, academics, opportunities, culture, and many more things."

Her eyes turned distant, as if tracing invisible thoughts. "Similarly, we don't really have any say in whom we'll spend the major part of our lives with," she continued softly.

Her finger brushed under her lower lip, a subtle movement that deepened her expression. "For example – two people deeply in love may not end up together. Years later, both might be happily married to different partners."

She shrugged lightly, her tone calm but detached. "So… yeah. I believe our actions and thoughts shape our future, but at the same time, destiny plays its game in the background."

Ira's voice grew firmer as she emphasized her final point. "And even in academics, I've lived this. It doesn't matter if you give your hundred percent – hard work, smart work, whatever. That one percent of destiny can still ruin it all."

Nidhi's lips pressed together, her forehead creasing into a map of deep lines as she nodded slowly. "Hmm..." she murmured, eyes fixed on the ground. "But don't you th—"

"SHUT UP!"

Both girls' eyes widened in unison as they snapped their heads toward the source of the sound.

Navya stood behind them, her face contorted in exaggerated irritation. She exhaled sharply, her breath sending strands of hair flying off her shoulder. With a fake smile plastered across her face, she said, "I just asked a simple question – what type of life partners do you want? But you both?!" Her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at them. "You two turned my simple question into a philosophical debate on marriage and destiny!"

"You look gorgeous in rage, babe."

"Thank y—" Navya's eyes widened as she darted glances between the two. "Who said that? Who said that?!" she demanded, her voice rising.

Nidhi smiled sheepishly, pointing a finger at Ira.

Ira winked, her lips curling into a sly smile.

Navya's mouth fell open as she blinked rapidly. "Naughty girl! I thought you were a shy little baby!"

Ira's smile was innocent, her slightly uneven teeth adding to her charm. "I am," she said, blinking.

Nidhi and Navya exchanged a quick glance, their faces lighting up with mischievous grins. Their fingers wiggled in the air like predators ready to pounce.

"Oho, really?" Nidhi teased, wriggling her eyebrows.

The two girls advanced toward Ira, their movements swift and deliberate.

Ira stepped back, raising her hands defensively. "No. No. No tickling!"

Nidhi and Navya lunged forward. "Wuhahahahaha...!"

Ira turned and sprinted ahead like a startled deer, chased by two playful predators.

The street erupted with laughter, the sound of their joy mingling with the gusting wind, rustling leaves, and the occasional honk of passing vehicles.

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Inside the doctor's cabin, Antara sat upright, her hands folded in her lap. Her expression was composed, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Beside her, Siddharth sat still, his elbows resting lightly on the armrests, ankles crossed.

The doctor set the final report aside on the table. Looking up, he asked in a low but clear voice, "Has he always been like this?"

Antara's eyes flickered as she tilted her head, her chin dipping toward her chest. "He..." A single tear rolled down her cheek. Her thumb twitched in her lap in a small, involuntary movement.

Siddharth's gaze shifted from Antara to the doctor. He blinked slowly and cleared his throat. "The times have been a bit rough on him, doctor," he said calmly. "Abandonment and betrayal have been his childhood companions. So loneliness and anger became his coping mechanisms, his way of dealing with the ghosts in his mind."

The doctor nodded slowly, his expression somber. "Then what happened now didn't come out of nowhere," he said quietly. "His body may have collapsed this week, but psychologically? He's been drowning for years."

Leaning forward slightly, he rested his elbows on the table. "He's not just exhausted." His eyes moved between Siddharth and Antara. "He's deeply wounded. Emotionally malnourished. What I see points to long-standing trauma, possibly complex PTSD. The kind that doesn't scream; it quietly destroys from the inside."

Siddharth's expression remained composed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "How do we help him?"

The doctor paused, collecting his thoughts before replying. "First, understand that what he does – shutting down, lashing out, disappearing – that's not rebellion. It's survival." He emphasized each word. "But it's become dangerous now. The anger, the self-harm, the withdrawal – they're no longer manageable. Especially after the repeated head injury. His impulse control, emotional regulation, even memory – all are affected."

Antara's throat tightened, another tear tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

"If he doesn't get help, professional help, he'll keep deteriorating," the doctor said, his tone measured. "He might build a successful life on the outside: career, reputation, wealth, everything. But emotionally?" The word lingered before he broke the silence. "He'll be emptying out slowly. Silently. Every day."

Siddharth's face seemed to lose its color, his eyes widening as he absorbed the doctor's warning.

The doctor's gaze never wavered. "And if he moves forward in life without healing this... his wife will be trapped in that silence. Loving a man who vanishes behind his own walls. Or worse, facing the outbursts when those walls collapse. Their lives will become like a living corpse."

Antara flinched at the thought of those possibilities, her vision blurring again.

Siddharth's jaw tightened, but his tone stayed calm. "Therapy?" he asked, eyes locked on the doctor.

The doctor nodded, his expression serious, voice firm. "Yes. Psychiatric support. Trauma-focused therapy. EMDR, maybe DBT. A gentle routine. And above all, no pressure." He slid a card across the table. "She has handled high-intensity trauma cases for over fifteen years."

Antara took the card with steady hands, her fingers closing around it like a lifeline.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on the two before him. "Let him start slow. Wait until the stitches are removed, then proceed. He won't come willingly, but show up anyway. That's where recovery begins." He offered a small, tired smile. "Don't try to carry him. Just don't let him walk alone."

Antara nodded, tucking the card into her sweater pocket, her movements quiet but determined. Siddharth's expression remained composed, though his eyes darkened under the weight of the doctor's words.

A/N: Now, let's get ready to witness Rudraksh's healing journey! May he recover fully, both physically and mentally, and pave the way for a brighter future. After all, a wounded person deserves comprehensive support, not just a burden for their loved ones to bear.

Let's hope for the best.

1. What's your opinions on miserable married lives?