A Web of Love and Deceit

The Weight of Truth

Warning: Homophobia

Happiness feels like a fleeting whisper in the storm, barely lingering before it's swallowed by the weight of sorrow. Perhaps it's because sadness carries a heavier burden, or maybe fate, with its cruel sense of humor, decides to turn up the heat, determined to forge us in its relentless fire. 

The maid, a middle-aged woman with years of experience working in homes, moved briskly around Ram's room, her hands working tirelessly to dust, wipe, and organize. She had four other houses to clean that day, and time was slipping away like water through her fingers. In her haste, she bumped into the edge of Ram's desk. A stack of books toppled to the floor, and a glass, precariously perched on the edge, shattered with a sharp, ear-piercing sound. Her heart leapt into her throat.

"Oh no!" she whispered, crouching to collect the shards. Her hands trembled as she carefully picked up the pieces, muttering prayers under her breath that no one would hear the commotion. She began stacking the fallen books when something slipped from between the pages—a bundle of glossy polaroid photos scattered across the floor like autumn leaves.

At first, she didn't think much of it and began gathering them hastily, but as her eyes caught the images, her hands faltered. There was Ram. His arm wrapped tenderly around someone. In another photo, he was kissing this person, their hair obscuring their face. "Oh," she thought, a small smile curling her lips. "So Ram has a girlfriend!"

But her curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced at the next photo. Her breath hitched, her smile froze, and her fingers lost their grip on the stack. The pictures scattered around her again. It wasn't a girl.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the image—a kiss. Two men. One was Ram, shirtless, his expression soft and intimate. The other man's face was turned slightly away, but their closeness left no doubt. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she fumbled to pick up the photos, her hands now shaking uncontrollably.

The next photo made her gasp, a sound she quickly smothered with her hand. It was even more explicit—Ram and the same man, both half-naked, sharing a private moment on a boat with a sunlit beach in the background. This was no casual friendship.

She felt a wave of emotions crash over her—shock, confusion, and a deep, gnawing disgust. "A boy... he's in love with another boy," she thought, horrified. Her mind reeled with the weight of what she considered a monumental sin, something unnatural and unthinkable.

Her chest tightened, and she scrambled to gather the photos, her fingers curling around the incriminating evidence. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and without wasting another moment, she walked straight to Ram's mother. Her steps were quick but hesitant, her resolve stiffened by her sense of duty—or so she convinced herself.

Holding out the photos with a trembling hand, she spoke in a hushed, strained voice, her words heavy with judgment.
"Madam... you need to see this."

Ram stepped into his home that evening, his heart light and his spirits high. The day had been perfect—catching up with friends he hadn't seen in ages, followed by some much-needed time with Shivada, who had finally been in a cheerful mood after weeks of worry. The warmth of those moments lingered as he opened the door, a soft smile playing on his lips.

He saw his mother sitting in the dimly lit drawing room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her face was turned away, lost in the shadows, but the faint sound of her sniffles caught his attention. Brushing it off as a fleeting moment of melancholy, he approached her with his usual affectionate charm.

"Amma," he greeted warmly, leaning down to hug her. "Missed me?"

The next second, a sharp sting spread across his arm as she swatted him away. Ram froze, stunned, as his mother stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. He blinked, the shock of her reaction slicing through his happiness like a knife.