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This is one of the books in the series: Destined To Be. (can be called a collection of books)
The story can be enjoyed as a standalone. You can find more details on my profile.
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Two days had stretched into a suffocating eternity, each hour adding to the wall of silence separating Jagdish from his mother. Yashoda hadn't uttered a single word to him, and the air hung heavy with a tension he could almost taste. This silent treatment was a bizarre kind of torture, an unstated war fought within the confines of their own home. Despite the knot of unease twisting tighter in his gut, Jagdish found himself unable to break the silence.
It wasn't a matter of pride, but a deeper, instinctual fear that held him back. Yashoda, his constant source of strength and ever-smiling confidante—angry? The concept was completely alien to him. Her silence, so different from the gentle empathy that had always defined her, was terrifying. He felt lost and confused, her usual warmth now absent, leaving him to face her wrath alone. The silence was relentless, a constant reminder of his mistake, twisting a fresh knot of anguish in his gut with every passing moment.
The house echoed with a chilling normalcy. Yashoda conversed with Krishna and Subhadra, her voice a melody that never reached Jagdish's ears. Meals appeared on the table, steaming and nourishing, but her gaze remained stubbornly averted. He was a ghost in his own home, a silent witness to a life that continued without him.
He replayed their last conversation on a loop in his mind, dissecting every word, every inflection, searching for a crack in the emotional dam, a path to mend the fractured connection. But each mental rehearsal ended the same way—him standing paralyzed outside her door, the specter of making things worse a suffocating weight on his chest.
Maybe it was the influence of Nishita that had rubbed on him, to be open and talk freely, to be confident about oneself, and to be rebellious. He had never done that before, never had felt a need to question his parents' decision. He never knew how hard it would be to be rebellious, to fight, and to get it out of your heart, surely it wasn't as easy as Nishita projected it. He had done it the wrong way, he had been rash and he was regretting it.
He ached for the comfort of his mother's presence, the lilt of her voice directed at him, the way her smile could chase away any darkness. The house, once a haven of warmth and familiar chatter, now echoed with a hollowness that mirrored the growing emptiness within him. Every movement felt like a tightrope walk, the fragile peace threatening to shatter with the slightest misstep.
A sliver of hope, fragile as a spiderweb, had flickered in his chest—perhaps she would reach out first. Perhaps she would see the remorse etched on his face, the fear that gnawed at him from within. But as the hours bled into days, that hope dwindled, replaced by a cold dread. Yashoda's silence felt deliberate, a calculated punishment for his offense.
He sought refuge in work, hoping to bury himself in the avalanche of paperwork. Yet, even amidst the sterile hum of the office, his mind would betray him, drifting back to the hurt flicker in her eyes, the unforgiving set of her jaw. He yearned to know what thoughts swirled within her, if a part of her missed him too, or if she, like him, was waiting for the other to make the first move.
By the third day, the silence had become a tangible entity, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. He couldn't go on like this. The gnawing anxiety had morphed into a desperate need for connection, for resolution. He had to reach out a hand across the emotional divide, no matter how much it terrified him. He had to face the possibility of rejection because the alternative—this agonizing silence—was a prison he could no longer endure.
Taking a fortifying breath that did little to calm the storm within him, Jagdish steeled himself.
This has to end.
Honesty, he knew, was the only key. He had to lay bare his vulnerabilities, his fears, no matter how raw and uncomfortable it made him feel.
With a pounding heart that threatened to burst from his chest and hands slick with nervous sweat, he made his way toward his mother's room. He hovered outside her door, the familiar scent of sandalwood, a faint echo of her comforting presence, wafting through the crack.
Gathering every ounce of courage he possessed, he rapped his knuckles softly against the wood. The silence stretched on, each tick of the clock a hammer blow against his already frayed nerves. Just as he was about to turn away, defeated, the door creaked open a sliver, revealing a glimpse of Yashoda's face. Her expression was an unreadable mask, a stoic landscape offering no hint of the emotions churning beneath the surface. It was a canvas of neutrality, yet somehow more terrifying than any display of anger could have been.
"Maa," he rasped, his voice raw with desperation. "Please, can we talk?"
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A/N
I'm usually the most talkative person in my circle (Ambivert Alert) and often shout or curse to show my anger... But when I fall silent, people often get scared by my wrath. This isn't just with my parents, partner, or friends; I've also used silence with my juniors and students. I remember one student who cried because I stopped talking to her after she kept repeating the same mistake constantly. It made me feel terrible because I don't see silence as a harsh punishment. For me, it's more about needing my space if someone doesn't respect me or my time.
I understand that silence can feel like torture but I resort to complete silence when I feel disrespected. However, I know how hard it is for the other person, and I forgive immediately if they ask for it with proper explanation.
From what I observe, Yashoda feels deeply disrespected, particularly because of her immense love for her husband. This has prompted her to completely withdraw from Jagdish's life upon hearing any criticism against him. I know it's not the right approach, but sometimes people act on impulse, and making foolish decisions is all too human.
"Maa" for Jagdish. I am sorry T-T
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