First In Time

7. Never Together

N-Sun

"We are getting a divorce." The first sentence I hear when my friend Nayak and his wife step into my home, shattering the fragile calm of my evening.

I had just settled in, my children asleep after a long day filled with stories and play—both constructive and destructive. Their laughter still echoed in the corners of the house, a stark contrast to the turmoil unfolding in front of me.

All of my children fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. They express themselves well enough for me to understand, but it's never quite enough. I often feel like I need a village to help manage this herd—yes, a herd of herbivores. Even eggs are a hard pass for them. Every meal is a war between them and their plates, usually over a single piece of carrot, a small grape, or the gluten monster, bread, which seems to have been born in the fires of hell. I'm fed up—tired and very annoyed. I know they need help, and I understand the challenges they face, but they truly test the limits of human patience.

I adopted them when they were just born, each of them a bundle of potential and vulnerability. They are the foundation of the Vajra Wellness Centers, a dream I once had to create a sanctuary for children like them.

But my heart shattered when my daughter Ilakshiya, now fourteen, ran away in search of her mother, alongside Indra's daughter. I had poured my heart and soul into raising her, caring for her since her mother abandoned her at my doorstep. I fed her, nurtured her, taught her morals—everything I could give. And yet, all of it felt like a cruel joke when the daughter I adored chose to leave for a non-existent mother.

"The mother" came from a wealthy family; I'd rather not even mention her name. She was drowning in gold and diamonds, living a life of luxury that seemed to stretch endlessly. Daria, her name, means "possessing goodness." In front of her father, she embodied that meaning, but the moment she had her credit card in hand, her darker side shone through so brightly that you'd need three pairs of sunglasses to shield your eyes.

We were very young then, just nineteen. I was pursuing a law degree when I met the young evil genius, Indra. He was only fifteen, yet he had a unique way of seeing the world that intrigued me. Our meeting took place at my wedding—a destination wedding in the middle of the desert, where the sand felt more like quicksand with each passing moment.

I'm not from a wealthy family; my parents were simple, middle-class people with big hearts and genuine laughter. I've always felt lucky to have them. However, their untimely deaths plunged me into a maelstrom of emotions, leaving me with a harrowing choice: marry the rich heiress or avenge my parents by destroying those responsible. I chose the latter.

My childhood friend, Momo—Mohana Rangan—joined the military at a young age. He lied on his application and quickly rose through the ranks to become a general. When he learned about my parents, a fire ignited in him. He used his connections to gather information, and together we embarked on a path of vengeance. I can't even recall how many lives we took. Momo branded them as terrorists and invaders, and we unleashed chaos upon them.

Eventually, we faced a massive army of goons. Armed with a switchblade and a broken sword, we fought a brutal battle. The air was thick with the scent of blood and betrayal, a rancid reminder of our shared pain. When it was over, we were drenched in the aftermath of our rage. But I still couldn't find peace. The anger inside me was a raging storm, yearning to obliterate the world for my parents' deaths.

In the chaos, I met Indra. We fought for days—here I was, a grown man battling a fifteen-year-old boy, unable to defeat him. Indra had an uncanny ability to turn my strength against me, as if he were dancing with me in a twisted ballet. The more I fought, the calmer I became. Momo recognized this and stepped back, watching us with a smile—the first time I'd seen him smile in what felt like an eternity.