Chapter 2 - Home

I was sinking in the past, reliving the moments of my childhood, when a loud knock on the door shattered my reverie. I opened my eyes and looked around, feeling nothing. I was still in my bed, in my filthy apartment. I got up and walked towards the door, indifferent to who it was. I opened it and saw Pranav standing there, his eyes full of sympathy. He didn't say a word, he just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a crushing hug. I felt a surge of emotion and broke down, sobbing on his shoulder. I told him everything, how I had received a phone call from someone I barely knew from my town, telling me that my brother had died in a car accident. He listened silently, stroking my hair and whispering useless words of comfort. 

"Go instantly," he said to me, after I had calmed down a bit. He reached into his pocket and handed me some money. "It's for the trip. You need to go back home. I know it's been a while, and I'm sure they'll be glad to see you." He lied. He knew that I had no other family left, except for my estranged brother, Barrett, who despised me. He knew that going back to my hometown was the last thing I wanted to do. But he also knew that I had no choice. I hugged him again, bitter of his kindness. He smiled softly and left me to get ready. As I picked up a dress from the cupboard and put it on, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. Did Pranav truly believe his own words, or was he simply trying to ease my burden with empty reassurances?

Regardless, I packed a small bag with some essentials and locked the door behind me. Pranav was waiting for me outside, holding his car keys. He offered them to me, saying I could use his car for the journey. I refused at first, feeling guilty, but he persisted. He said he had another car he could use, and that he wanted me to be safe and comfortable. I thanked him and took the keys, feeling a cold emptiness in my chest. I got into his car and started the engine, feeling a surge of dread. I drove off, heading towards my hometown. It had been 10 long years since I left that place. I wondered what it was like now, how much it had changed, how much I had changed. I hoped I would find some peace there, some closure, some healing. But I knew I was lying to myself. I knew I would only find more pain, more regret, more guilt. I knew I would never find myself again.

I drove away from the city, towards the place I used to call home. But I couldn't feel any attachment to it anymore. I hated everything about it: the people, the houses, the culture. It was a panchayat, where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever changed. On the way, I saw many crows lying dead on the road, their black feathers stained with blood. It was a grim reminder of the news I had just received: my estranged brother had died in a car accident. He was the only family I had left, except for my brother, Hari, who despised me. Now, my other brother was gone too. My life was full of death and misery, and the weight of loss pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket. 

I moved forward, steering the wheel mechanically. The traffic was light, as if the world had given up on me. I hated driving, it made me feel trapped and restless. Why did I choose to drive anyway? I couldn't refuse Pranav, that's why. He was the only one who cared enough to offer me his car and some money for the trip. He was the only one who hugged me and comforted me when I broke down. And why was that, I wondered. I was never the type to care about what others thought of me. Maybe it was because he was the only human I felt who was real in that moment. When he hugged me, I felt like I belonged to this world, even if it was a cruel and unfair one. Damn it, this whole life was nothing but crap. Why was I even born? This thought had haunted me since I was a kid. Some people I knew back then said it was just a phase, a part of growing up. Others just pointed out Africa and how some kids starved there and I was being ungrateful. Pieces of shit. Why should I feel grateful? Did they really feel good thinking shit like that? If the kids in Africa weren't born, they would also be free from the poverty and this fucking universe that didn't give a damn. They would be better off than me, than us, than anyone.

I arrived at the place around 2 pm, after driving for hours through the dusty roads. Stepping out of my car, I welcomed the warm embrace of the sun, its radiant rays casting a comforting glow on my skin. As I surveyed the scene, an elderly figure caught my eye, hobbling towards me with surprising speed despite her frail appearance. It was my aunt, my Father's Brother's wife, her once vibrant features now worn and weathered by time. Her eyes welled up with tears as she reached me, her trembling hands reaching out to caress my face, as if I were still a child. Despite her gestures of affection, I felt nothing but a hollow emptiness inside. Though she had once been a comforting presence in my life, her presence now served as a painful reminder of the family ties I had long abandoned. 

As I stood there, grappling with my own sense of detachment, another woman emerged from the gathering crowd. Clad in a white sari, her demeanor was somber, her eyes swollen with grief. She approached me tentatively, her voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and hope as she uttered my name, "Akhil?" Her words hung in the air, laden with unspoken questions and expectations. "We've been waiting for you," she continued, her tone betraying a hint of hurt and confusion. My mind raced as I struggled to make sense of the situation. Who was this woman, and why did she seem to expect me? Her next words provided the answer I dreaded to hear. "I'm your brother's wife. We got married two years ago," she explained, her words landing like a heavy blow to my already burdened conscience. The revelation left me reeling, my mind scrambling to process the implications of this newfound information. How could I have been so oblivious to such a significant event in my own brother's life? The weight of guilt and regret bore down on me with crushing force, threatening to overwhelm me entirely. With a heavy heart, I followed her towards the gathering at the house, my footsteps slow and reluctant. As we approached, I could see the solemn faces of my brother's relatives, their expressions a mix of sorrow and expectation.

 The air was heavy with the weight of grief, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. I felt like a stranger in my own skin, an outsider intruding upon a world I no longer belonged to. As I crossed the threshold into the house, I couldn't help but wish for a way to turn back time,

to undo the years of estrangement and missed opportunities. But deep down, I knew that some wounds could never be healed, some bridges could never be rebuilt. All I could do now was face the consequences of my choices and confront the ghosts of my past, no matter how daunting the task may be.

It was the sixth day following the demise of my brother. As I stepped into the familiar confines of our house, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. His presence seemed to linger in the air, a silent testament to the years we had spent together. The hall was expansive, adorned with three plush sofas and a diwan coat, their arrangement echoing the countless memories we had created in this space. A small LCD TV was affixed to the wall adjacent to the window, its screen reflecting the muted daylight.

The chill of the marble floor seeped through the soles of my feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the memories that flooded my mind. To the right of the grand staircase stood Jithin, my cousin. His face broke into a vacant smile as our eyes met. Our childhood days flashed before my eyes - the wrestling matches on the bed, the laughter echoing through the rooms, the day the bed gave way under our combined weight, and the scolding that followed from our mother. A smile tugged at my lips as I returned his greeting.

I proceeded to the bedroom adjacent to the staircase, setting down my bag with a sigh. A voice echoed from outside, "Maya". It took me a moment to realize that it was my brother's wife they were calling. She turned to look at me, her eyes meeting mine before she suggested I freshen up. "Okay, Chechi," I responded. She moved a step closer, her eyes welling up with unshed tears, "Your brother loved you a lot," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Caught off guard, I reached out to hold her hand, pressing it gently against my temple. "I know," I murmured, my voice steady despite the emotions threatening to spill over. She wiped her tears with the edge of her saree and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I locked the door and undressed, stepping into the bathroom. I took longer than usual, the familiar loathing for the village replaced by a strange sense of belonging. Emerging from the bathroom, I dressed and was greeted by a knock on the door. It was Jithin again. We shook hands, an unspoken agreement between us to never hug. Despite my affection for people, I realized I had never been one for physical displays of affection.

""Hey, Akhil," Jithin greeted him, his voice tinged with concern. "How are you holding up?"Akhil shrugged, unable to find the words to express the tumultuous mix of emotions that churned within him.

"Where were you?" Jithin inquired, his brow furrowed with curiosity.

"I... I worked as a Graphic Designer for a couple of years," Akhil replied, his voice trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

"And now?" Jithin pressed, his gaze steady and unwavering.

Akhil hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Now... I don't know," he admitted, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon his shoulders.

Jithin nodded in understanding, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I was the one who called you," he confessed, his voice softening with empathy.

Akhil's brow furrowed in confusion. "Oh, it was you," he murmured, realization dawning upon him.

"Yeah, I mean, I had a hard time getting your number," Jithin explained. "I had to ask around quite a bit."

"How did you find it then?" Akhil inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"From your friend, Bharath," Jithin replied, his tone somber.

Akhil's mind raced as he processed the information, his thoughts consumed by a sense of disbelief and dread. Bharath was one of the few friends he had managed to keep in touch with over the years, a reminder of the life he had left behind.

"Does he know?" Akhil asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No, we didn't inform a lot of people yet, only family, relatives, and his friends," Jithin explained, his words heavy with the weight of sorrow.

Akhil felt a knot form in his stomach as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His brother's death had cast a shadow over everything, leaving him grappling with feelings of guilt and regret that threatened to consume him whole.

"And, Akhil," Jithin continued, his voice faltering slightly. "I want you to sit down and listen to me calmly."

Akhil complied, sinking onto the bed with a heavy heart. He braced himself for what was to come, knowing that whatever Jithin had to say would only add to the burden he already carried. "He killed himself," Jithin revealed, his words like a dagger to Akhil's heart.

Akhil felt the world spin around him as the full weight of the revelation hit him. His brother, the embodiment of strength and resilience, had succumbed to the darkness that lurked within him. It was a truth too painful to bear, a wound that cut deeper than any he had ever known.

"Also, he had this addiction recently with gambling," Jithin continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He borrowed money from my dad too."

Akhil's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the revelation. His brother's struggles had been hidden from him, concealed beneath a facade of strength and stoicism. It was a truth he had never been prepared to face, a reality that shattered the illusions of his childhood.

As Jithin's words echoed in his mind, Akhil felt a wave of grief wash over him, overwhelming him with a sense of loss and longing. His brother was gone, lost to him forever, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

With a heavy heart, Akhil rose from the bed, his mind consumed by thoughts of what could have been. His brother's death had shattered the fragile illusion of normalcy that he had clung to for so long, leaving him adrift in a sea of regret and remorse.

As he stepped out into the hallway, Akhil was greeted by the somber faces of his relatives, their expressions a mirror of his own grief. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times before, yet somehow it felt different now, as if the world had shifted beneath his feet and left him standing alone in the wreckage.With each passing moment, Akhil felt the weight of his brother's absence grow heavier, pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. It was a burden he would carry with him for the rest of his days, a reminder of the bond they had shared and the memories they had created together.