He was oppressed by everyone around him, 'Love and care' were the terms used, for he inherits billions.
His voice was never heard outside the walls of his mind.
It was all until he realised what was happening around him. He started his game so quiet...
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Jhanvi's POV
I stood there, my fingers absentmindedly trailing along the edges of the fabric I had been folding, though my mind was far from the mundane task. The room was silent, save for the distant hum of the city outside, but within me, a storm raged. My thoughts twisted and tangled like roots too long neglected—memories, emotions, regrets—each clawing for space in my consciousness. They reminded me of all I had lost, all I had abandoned, and all that had slipped away despite my best efforts.
The most persistent thought of all, though, was of him—my estranged husband. It had been years since he shifted to his new house, taking with him not just his presence but a piece of my heart. I had tried to pretend his absence was a relief, that I was better off without him, but now, as the years dragged on, I missed him deeply. I missed the way he used to look at me as if I were the center of his universe. But how could I take the first step toward fixing it when the weight of our history pressed so heavily on my chest? I didn't know how to begin, didn't know if I even could.
The sharp knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts. My heart jumped, though I wasn't sure why. It was late—too late for anyone to be calling unannounced. I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and opened the door. There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, was Shakti, my brother.
He stood there like a shadow of the boy I once knew, shoulders hunched, his face gaunt and hollow. It was clear that time had not been kind to him. The weight of years, of mistakes and regrets, seemed to sag his frame. His eyes, once filled with a mischievous light, were now clouded with shame. He looked broken, like a man who had seen the worst of life and was barely holding himself together.
"Jhanvi," he said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His eyes searched mine, pleading for something I couldn't yet name.
I met his gaze through the mirror across the room, refusing to turn fully toward him. A small, bitter smile curled at the corner of my lips, though there was no joy in it. It was a smile of cold indifference, one I had perfected over the years. Let him see that, I thought. Let him feel the distance he created between us.
"Shakti," I said, my voice flat. "What a sudden surprise!"
He flinched, as if the words had physically struck him. For a moment, he said nothing, his mouth opening and closing as though he was trying to find the right words. I didn't give him the chance.
"I'm glad," I continued, my voice cutting through the thick silence between us.
His head snapped up, confusion flickering across his face. "Glad?" he echoed, his voice tentative, unsure.
"Glad," I repeated. "That you're here. Right where you belong." I turned away from him, my reflection in the mirror mocking him with its coldness. "Behind me."
