Hearts Under Contract

LET THE HUNT BEGIN

The sky above me mirrors my thoughts, dark and heavy, casting a blanket of gloom over the funeral proceedings. The wind carries the scent of earth, freshly dug, ready to embrace the remains of my grandfather, Ravi Jai Rathore. The name alone commands respect, even in death. But I feel nothing. I won’t allow myself to.

I will never allow the world to witness my grief, sorrow, or any emotion. People are quick to exploit vulnerability, using it as a weapon against us. They thrive on our pain, relishing the power it gives them.

My heart may ache, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing it.

I stand at the edge of the grave, hands folded behind my back, my posture rigid, my expression colder than the chill in the air.

Ravi Jai Rathore, my grandfather, was the one who taught me how to strive and thrive in a world that often seeks to bring you down. His lessons shaped my understanding of resilience and determination, instilling in me the belief that success comes from facing challenges.

My uncle's family, who raised me after my parents died, were wailing in grief for him. They took me in and cared for me as if I were their own son, and for that, I will always be grateful. But today, as much as I wanted to embrace and console them, I found myself frozen. I didn’t know how. I’ve never learned how to offer comfort, how to ease someone else’s pain when I’ve spent my life burying my own.

My uncle, Raj Jai Rathore, placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. His touch was firm yet gentle, a silent acknowledgment of the loss we shared. But even then, I remained still, my emotions locked away, unsure how to respond to the gesture.

Even though I’m surrounded by so many people today, I feel completely alone. Their voices and presence blur into the background, unable to reach the emptiness within me. Grief, it seems, has a way of isolating you, no matter how many are around.

My eyes were fixed on the ground, unblinking and devoid of emotion, as I watched my grandfather being laid to rest. The world around me faded into a blur, the muffled sounds of sobs and whispers drifting away like smoke in the wind. Each shovelful of dirt that fell onto the casket seemed to echo the weight of my grief, but I refused to allow it to surface.

The sky loomed overhead, a heavy blanket of gray that mirrored my inner turmoil. I felt the cold earth beneath my feet, grounding me in the stark reality of loss. Memories of my grandfather flooded my mind—the lessons he taught me, the challenges he pushed me to embrace, the strength he instilled in me. Yet, despite the torrent of feelings swirling within, I remained an island of calm amid the chaos of mourning.

As the final words were spoken and the last shovelful of soil was cast, a chill ran down my spine. This was the moment of finality, the end of an era. My heart ached for the man who had shaped my life, yet my face betrayed none of it. I had learned early on that emotions, when exposed, could be wielded against you. The world is filled with those who would seize upon your vulnerabilities, and I had no intention of giving them that power.

So, I stood there, a sentinel of stoicism, my gaze unwavering as the reality of the grave consumed him. Inside, however, I grappled with the storm of sorrow that threatened to break free. I was grateful for my uncle’s family, who had taken me in, who cried for him as if he were their own. They were hurting, and I felt their pain, but I couldn’t find the words or the strength to comfort them. My silence was my armor, a shield against a world that often took delight in others' suffering.

I promised myself then that I would honor my grandfather’s legacy, not just by carrying his name but by embodying the strength he had instilled in me. I would strive and thrive, just as he had taught me, even if I had to do so in the shadows of my own grief.