A Web of Love and Deceit

The Weight of Unseen Scars

I've often heard people call those who end their lives cowards, accusing them of not valuing the gift of life. But I see them differently. I believe they are among the kindest, bravest souls—ones who carried unimaginable pain for far too long.

If we look beyond the surface, their decision is never simple. It always traces back to deep wounds—trust shattered by someone they never thought would hurt them, love given so completely that they didn't realize it was slowly consuming them. Years of silent suffering, emotional torment, and relentless agony pile up until one day, they reach a breaking point where the weight is too much to bear.

It's not that they want to die—it's that they no longer see a way to live. When even the tiniest flicker of hope is extinguished, when every breath feels like an unbearable burden, they seek not death, but an escape from the endless pain. If only the world were gentler, if only someone had held them a little closer, maybe they would have found a reason to stay.

Shivada POV

The wait outside the ICU was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity. My hands trembled as I clasped them together in desperate prayer, whispering promises of offerings to every god I had ever known. I didn't care what it took—I just wanted my brother back.

Ram's parents sat in a corner, their faces pale, their bodies drained from endless hours of crying. My mother's shoulder was my anchor, her presence the only thing keeping me from breaking apart. My father, usually the pillar of our family, sat with his prayer beads, murmuring words of faith as if willing the universe to show mercy.

Then, the doors of the ICU swung open.

The doctor stepped out, exhaustion evident in his weary eyes. My breath hitched. It had been too long since he went inside. My heart pounded in my chest, dread clawing at my throat.

He looked at us and finally spoke.

"Ram is stable now. The blood loss has left him weak, but he's out of danger. By tomorrow morning, we can shift him to a room."

For a moment, silence swallowed us whole. And then, Ram's father surged forward, grasping the doctor in a tight embrace, his sobs of relief echoing through the sterile hallway. "Thank you... thank you..." he repeated, his voice breaking with emotion.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my vision blurring as gratitude flooded every inch of my being. I closed my eyes and silently thanked every god I had pleaded to, vowing to fulfill every offering I had promised.

Ram's mother, still trembling, found her voice. "Can we see him? Just once?"

The doctor gave a tired yet understanding smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am. He's in a deep sleep now. It's best not to disturb him. You can see him first thing in the morning."

Her shoulders slumped, but she nodded, clutching her husband's hand for support.

And as I sat there, the weight of the past hours pressing down on me, I realized something—I had almost lost my brother today. But he was still here. He was alive. And that was all that mattered.

I buried myself in my mother's embrace, my body trembling as silent sobs wracked through me. She held me close, her warmth a fragile shield against the storm inside me. Her lips pressed against my forehead, a gentle, wordless promise that everything would be okay.

But nothing felt okay.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement—three figures rushing toward us with urgency.

Aadhi. Padma aunty. Shiva.

My breath caught in my throat.

Rage ignited within me, fierce and unrelenting, threatening to consume the grief that had settled deep in my bones. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. How dare they show up now? After everything?