ILLITERATE

ILLITERATE EPISODE 57

The air in the house grows thick with an almost suffocating tension as the news of the uncle’s passing reverberates through the walls. The sorrow that should have enveloped the family instead becomes a weapon, wielded by the very woman who should have offered comfort. The aunt, her face twisted with grief and rage, casts blame with venomous precision, her eyes burning with an unfathomable fury. The weight of loss is heavy, but it is the unbearable burden of accusation that threatens to crush Muzammil.

Her words, sharp as daggers, slice through the fragile remnants of Muzammil’s hope. "This is all your fault, Muzammil!" she hisses, her voice laced with contempt. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, as if her own sorrow has morphed into something far darker, far more dangerous. She seems to take pleasure in his suffering, her accusations spiraling into madness, blaming the boy for misfortune he never invited. To her, Muzammil is nothing but a scapegoat, a symbol of all that has gone wrong in her world.

The room grows cold as her words hang in the air, suffocating him with their malicious weight. Muzammil stands there, paralyzed by the injustice, unable to understand the depths of cruelty in her gaze. His heart pounds with a mixture of fear and disbelief, each breath harder to draw as the bitter accusation sinks deeper into his soul. He had already been an unwelcome presence, but now, in the wake of her husband’s death, he is painted as the cause of every misfortune that befalls the household.

The aunt's voice rises, filled with an eerie intensity that sends a chill down Muzammil’s spine. “You brought bad luck to this family,” she spits, her eyes gleaming with a wild, almost frenzied look. Every syllable she utters is a strike against him, an unforgivable indictment of his mere existence. She has twisted the mourning into something darker, transforming grief into a weapon to further destroy the boy she once treated with indifferent cruelty. In her twisted mind, Muzammil’s very presence is the source of all their suffering.

Muzammil feels his knees weaken under the weight of her words. It is not the accusation that cuts the deepest, but the cold finality with which she delivers it. In her eyes, he is no longer a boy who lost everything—he is a source of devastation, a harbinger of doom. Each insult piles onto the last, each accusation pushing him further into a corner where there is no escape, no respite from the torment that his aunt has so cruelly decided to heap upon him.

Yet even as the cruelty unfolds, Muzammil can feel something stir within him, something deep and raw. His instincts scream for him to flee, to run from the suffocating wrath of the woman who has turned his life into a nightmare. But there is no place to hide, no sanctuary to retreat to. The walls of the house, once a shelter, now feel like an unrelenting prison, closing in on him with every passing moment. He is trapped, caught in the vise of her hatred, and the bitter realization sinks in: there is no escape from the blame she has placed upon him.

As her tirade continues, the atmosphere becomes charged with an eerie, almost palpable energy. It is as if the very air itself is heavy with the weight of her words, each one landing like a crushing blow. Muzammil stands there, helpless, unable to defend himself, his mind racing for some way to absolve himself of the sins he has not committed. But there is no redemption to be found here, no explanation that will satisfy her warped reasoning. His silence, once a form of resistance, is now seen as guilt.

And so, Muzammil is left to endure, to suffer under the unrelenting pressure of his aunt’s twisted words. The death of her husband has become the catalyst for a new form of torment, one that pushes Muzammil further into despair. The family, once a source of security, has become a battleground, and Muzammil is its unwilling, silent victim. With each passing day, the aunt’s accusations grow louder, more venomous, until the weight of them threatens to crush him entirely. The boy who once hoped for love, for acceptance, now finds himself drowning in an ocean of blame, with no shore in sight.