What after That?

Ch 20.

Shubman parked his cycle with a clatter, casually walking inside with his usual carefree attitude. "Mummy, yaar, bhook lagi hai," he called out, expecting the warmth of his mother's cooking to greet him. 

But as soon as he saw his father sitting in the living room, his demeanor shifted. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, and he braced himself, setting his face into a serious expression.

His father, barely looking up from his newspaper, spoke with that all-too-familiar tone. "Aa gaye, nawaab. Exams ke marks pata lage?"

Shubman clenched his jaw but kept his voice even, "Nahi, abhi nahi."

His father's tone grew sharper, laced with suspicion. "Pata lage nahi, ya batana nahi chahte?"

Shubman could feel the heat rising in his chest, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Papa, sach bol raha hu, abhi nahi mile," he repeated, trying to keep the frustration from slipping into his words.

But his father wasn't one to let things go. "Hmm, mujhe to pehle se pata tha kya hoga... failure ho tum meri life ke—"

Before the sting of those words could fully hit him, his mother intervened, her voice soft yet firm, "Buss kijiye, kya bol rahe hain..." She stood between them like a shield, her eyes pleading for peace.

His father shot back with annoyance, "Tum beech mein mat bolo."

Shubman, already on the edge, felt his anger bubbling over. He was about to retort, something sharp and cutting on the tip of his tongue, when he felt a gentle pressure on his hand. His mother, always there to hold him back, gripped his hand just tight enough to stop him.

He looked at her, his eyes asking the same silent question he always did in moments like these: Why? Why did she let this happen every time? Why didn't she let him fight back?

Her response, as always, was in her eyes—a quiet plea, a soft command. She didn't need to say anything, but Shubman understood. Go to your room, her gaze told him.

With a heavy sigh, Shubman let go of the words he so desperately wanted to say. He pulled his hand free from hers, nodded, and turned toward the stairs. His father mumbled something under his breath, but Shubman tuned it out, focusing on the familiar creak of the steps beneath his feet.

He climbed to his room, the weight of the unspoken argument heavy on his shoulders, the taste of bitterness in his mouth.

As Shubman entered his room, the muffled voices of his parents' argument reached his ears. He paused, heart pounding as the words became clearer, each one a sharp blade cutting into him.

"Uss nawaab ka bada saath deti ho na tum... Arey abhi tumhe aur tumhare bete ko ghar se bahar fenk doon to do waqt ka khana nahi kha paoge," his father's harsh voice echoed, filled with venom.

His mother's softer tone tried to reason, "Dekhiye, Shubman ab bada ho—"

"Bada ho gaya hai to kya hua?

 Use bolo idhar rehna hai to nazrein jhuka ke rahe! 

Dekha tha maine kaise ghoor raha tha mujhe... Aur tumse umeed rakhna hi bekaar hai... Tum mere saath rehna deserve hi nahi karti."

Shubman's whole body tensed, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. His chest heaved with anger, each word stoking the flames of fury in him. How could his father say such things? How could his mother listen to this disrespect without fighting back?

His vision blurred with the intensity of his emotions, and he was ready to storm out of his room, to face his father and finally put an end to this. No more swallowing his anger. No more staying quiet while his mother was humiliated.