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MATURE THEME AHEAD

“The wounds inflicted on a child’s soul are often invisible to the world, but they bleed endlessly within, shaping a life that aches in silence.”

SIDHARTH stood naked under the hot shower, letting the water cascade down his body. Closing his eyes, he relished the warmth, allowing it to relax his tense muscles.

A smile tugged at his lips as vivid flashes of their intimate moments played in his mind—Sana completely under his mercy in bed, followed by their passionate encounter on the couch. Both were fresh and exhilarating in his memory.

The way her body reacted to his touch and the way she moaned his name, “Sir” and then “Sidharth,” ignited something primal within him.

If her calling him “Sir” was intoxicating, the sound of her moaning “Sidharth” was his undoing. It drove him to the brink, so much so that he couldn’t resist taking her on the couch itself.

It was reckless, but he loved it.

A low chuckle escaped him as he recalled running upstairs to the room butt naked to grab some condoms, leaving her naked and utterly worked up on the couch.

“Fuck! She’s driving me crazy,” he mumbled to himself, still smiling.

Opening his eyes, he reached for the soap bar to cleanse himself. But as quickly as his good mood had risen, it soured. His mind snapped back to reality, reminding him of the pressing matter at hand—today was the final ultimatum to locate Manisha.

His jaw tightened, and the smile faded from his face. “Today’s the day they’re supposed to inform me about her whereabouts. I hope their answer is positive this time.” he muttered darkly, his fingers gripping the soap bar tightly.

His anger surged as a haunting memory flashed before his eyes.

---

“Baby, it’s time for your bath,” Manisha announced, grabbing his books from his hands and setting them aside.

“Aunty, can I go after five minutes? I’ll be done with my English homework by then,” he requested.

“Sure. I’ll go arrange your clothes and prepare the bathtub, okay?” Manisha kissed his cheek and got busy with her tasks.

For a moment, Sidharth sat still, holding his face where she had kissed him. Shrugging it off, he quickly refocused on his homework.

There was a change over the last few months in her behavior towards him. Manisha had been behaving nicely with him. She spoke sweetly, smiled often, and pampered him with gifts and sweet treats. Sometimes, she even kissed his cheeks like she had just done.

During the first month of this sudden change, every time Manisha kissed his cheek, Sidharth would run to the bathroom to scrub his face with soap.

He was angry and disgusted.

Of course, Manisha didn’t know about this. If she did, he was certain she would’ve slapped him again. Or worse—kill him. He believed she could do that too.

She’s a psycho.

It had taken him days to adjust to this side of her. Now, she no longer hit, scolded, or punished him. But there was always a lingering sense of fear of “What if”.

What if she changed back to her old ways?
What if she hit him again?
What if she punished him like before?

Would he be able to endure it again?

The answer is—no.

Recently, Sidharth had even started to like this version of her—sweet, caring, and loving. But the poor boy didn’t realize it was all just a façade, a cruel game before she completely ruined him.

As promised, Manisha returned exactly five minutes later. “Is your homework done, baby?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet.

“Did she really change?” Sidharth wondered, pouting slightly.

Manisha noticed him lost in thought, his adorable pout catching her attention. Any sane person would’ve found it cute, but to her, it was something else entirely.

She found it attractive.

“I want to kiss those lips so badly,” the sinister thought crept into her mind. But she quickly averted her eyes. “Not yet, Manisha. You've to wait a little.” she told herself.

“Are you done, baby?” Manisha repeated.

“Yes,” Sidharth replied, hurriedly arranging his books on the table before running to the bathroom. He was about to lock the door when Manisha stopped him, leaving him confused.

“Keep it open,” she commanded, walking up to the bathroom and standing before him, arms folded.

“Why?” he asked, puzzled. Then, remembering her dislike for him staying too long in the bathroom playing with water, he added, “Aunty, I promise I won’t play with water.”

“It’s not about that,” she said firmly. “I’m bathing you today.” She closed the door behind her, locking it.

Sidharth froze in place, shocked. He didn’t understand why she would bathe him. He wasn’t a baby anymore—he was eight and a half years old and perfectly capable of bathing himself.

“Aunty, I’m eight now. A big boy. I can bathe myself,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with fear.

Manisha smirked, kneeling in front of him. “I know you’re eight, Sidharth,” she said, holding his shoulders and tilting his face up to meet her gaze.

“Are you feeling shy in front of me, baby?” she teased, her smirk growing.

“Yes, I feel really shy,” Sidharth admitted, looking down at the floor.

“Look at me,” Manisha demanded.

Sidharth hesitantly lifted his eyes to meet hers, his shyness evident.

“I understand your problem,” she said in a playful tone. “But did my baby forget? I’ve been bathing you since you were born.”

“It’s not like that. I do remember. But I’m a big boy now, right?” Sidharth tried to reason, his voice defensive.

“Of course, you’re a big boy,” Manisha agreed.

“But not to me. To me, you’ll always be my baby. So be a good boy and take off your clothes so I can bathe you.” she added. Her tone was deceptively sweet, but it sent a shiver down his spine.

“No,” Sidharth dared to refuse, his voice trembling.

The response was immediate—a harsh slap landed on his face.

“Monster aunty!” he cried, clutching his cheek.

“Yes, I am a monster,” Manisha replied coldly. “And now, you’ll see what this monster is capable of.”

Without another word, she began removing his clothes forcefully.

“No, please, Aunty.” he yelled, crying.

“Shut up,” Manisha dragged him toward the bathtub and forcefully made him sit in it. She began bathing him, ignoring his nonstop plead and denial.

“Please! No,”

“I said, shut up,” she barked, slapping him again.

As Manisha got busy bathing him, Sidharth's crying never stopped.

It wasn’t the pain from the slaps that made him cry. It was the pain of betrayal—the realization that her supposed change, her care, her love, had all been a lie. A cruel facade.

Sidharth’s sobs subsided for a moment when he began to feel uncomfortable with Manisha’s touch. He stood with his back to her as she started cleaning his buttocks.

“What are you doing?” he asked fearfully, feeling her hands cup his buttocks and press them.

“Cleaning,” she replied sharply, her tone making him shudder.

Manisha then made him turn to face her. “Stand still,” she commanded.

Sidharth’s eyes widened in shock as she gripped his private parts, and her soapy hands moved up and down. He felt a deep sense of discomfort and shame under her touch.

“Stop! You can go. I’ll do it myself,” he said, trying to move away from her hold.

“Don’t argue, or I’ll beat you with a belt. Would you like that, huh?” Manisha threatened.

The thought of being beaten with a belt terrified him. “No,” he mumbled.

“Then stand still and let me do my job, alright?”

Sidharth nodded agreeing reluctantly, realizing he had no choice.

He turned his face away, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as Manisha continued her assault under the guise of bathing him.

His crying stopped only when she rinsed him with water and wrapped a bathrobe around his small, trembling body.

“Leave me,” he demanded, struggling to free himself as Manisha tried to pick him up, to carry him to the bed.

“Shut up,” she barked, giving a spank on his butt.

He began crying again feeling uncomfortable. “What are you doing?”

Wordlessly Manisha took him to the bed, and Sidharth scrambled into it, clutching his clothes tightly.

“Let me dress you up,” Manisha said, trying to snatch his clothes from him.

“No, leave!” he demanded firmly, securing his clothes running away from her reach.

“Come here,”

“No! I said leave,” Sidharth argued, silently crying as he hugged his clothes for protection.

“Sidharth, don’t make me angry,” she warned, her eyes blazing with rage. “I’ll beat you with a belt I swear.” her voice promising.

“I don’t care,” he retorted, jumping off the bed and running to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, his small hands trembling as he hurried to change his clothes in the safety of the locked space.

“Mumma,” he cried, hugging his clothes as he lay on the cold bathroom floor. “Save me, Mumma.”

---

“Save me, Mumma,” Sidharth chuckled darkly. “What a fool I was to even think my so-called mother would save me from that bitch.”

“Idiot,” he laughed like a maniac, rubbing the soap harshly against his body. “I was such an idiot!” he yelled, throwing the soap bar onto the floor in anger.

He stood with his hands pressed against the wall. “I’ll find you, Manisha. Even if I have to drag you out of hell,” he vowed, his voice cold and resolute.

The water from the shower did little to wash away the storm brewing inside him.

“Fuck you, slut. Fuck you!” he spat, kicking the bathroom door in anger, before wrapping the bathrobe around his body, and stormed out of the room.

Call me.

After sending the message, Sidharth changed into dry clothes.

He leaned against the window and lit a cigarette, placing it between his lips. Taking a long drag, he exhaled slowly and slid the lighter back into his pants pocket.

With his phone clutched tightly in his hand, he waited for the call. His eyes were cold and emotionless as he stared at the rain drumming against the glass.

When the phone finally rang, a name flashed on the screen. Without hesitation, he answered.

“Did you find her?” Sidharth asked, his voice sharp and curt, tinged with impatience.

The voice on the other end replied confidently, “Yes, Sir. We found her. She was hiding in Poland.”

Sidharth inhaled deeply, his fingers tightening around the phone. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of those words sink in. Relief coursed through him like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him.

“Thank you,” he said briskly. “I’ll transfer the rest of the money. And you know what to do now.”

“Yes, Sir. She’ll be here by tomorrow,” the man assured him firmly. “We’ll wait for you to come,” he added hesitantly.

“Mr. Mishra, I’m not coming right now. But make sure she gets the best hospitality,” Sidharth replied coldly. Without waiting for a response, he hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed as though it burned his hand.

He sat there in silence, finishing the cigarette. Once it was done, he crushed the bud, opened the window, and flicked it outside. Then he closed the window with finality.

Sidharth stood up and for a moment, he started at nothing, his chest heaving. Then, like a dam breaking, he began to laugh. It started softly—a low chuckle that quickly grew into a loud, almost maniacal cackle.

“I’ve finally found you, bitch,” he muttered, pacing the room as laughter continued to spill out of him.

“You’ll suffer, bitch. You’ll suffer for what you did to me. I’ll show you what living in hell truly means,” he mumbled, throwing a vase across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces on the floor.

His laughter echoed in the room, but it wasn’t the laughter of joy. It was jagged, broken—a sound ripped from the depths of his soul. He repeated the words over and over, as though trying to convince himself they were true.

But then, the laughter stopped.

Sidharth froze in the middle of the room, his hands clenched into fists. The silence was deafening, pressing down on him like a weight he could no longer carry.

His lips quivered, his chest hitched, and then the first sob escaped him.

It was not a quiet cry. It was raw, guttural—the sound of years of pent-up pain and anger finally finding release. He sank to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, tears streaming down his face. His body trembled with the force of his sobs, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“I found you,” he whispered between hiccups, his voice cracking.

“I’ll kill you. Then you can’t hurt me anymore. You can’t—” He choked on his words, burying his face in his hands.

The relief he’d felt moments ago was now replaced by an overwhelming wave of grief and anger. He hated her for what she’d done, for the scars she’d left on his soul. But more than that, he hated himself for feeling this way—for letting her destroy him so completely.

The tears continued to flow, each one carrying away a piece of the pain that had consumed him for so long. This wasn’t just crying—it was purging. It was years of torment, shame, and anger spilling out all at once.

When his sobs finally subsided, Sidharth leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.

He got up from the floor and walked to the mirror, standing in front of it. Slowly, he removed his T-shirt and threw it aside, staring at his reflection.

“I hurt myself because of you,” he mumbled, touching the fading scars on his chest, stomach, and hip bones. “But not anymore.”

“Now it’s your turn to suffer, to beg for my mercy,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

“The pain you gave me—I’ll give you triple. The shame I felt—you’ll feel more. You’ll be gone, but I’ll still be here, standing and living my life,” he vowed, his voice resolute.

The room was silent now, except for the faint sound of his breathing. And in that silence, a strange sense of peace began to settle over him. For the first time in years, he felt as though he could finally breathe.

It wasn’t over—not yet. But it was a start. A chance to rebuild. A chance to reclaim the pieces of himself that she had tried to destroy.

And for Sidharth, that was enough.

Sidharth grabbed his phone and dialed Sana's number. She picked up after two rings.

“Hello! Sidharth?” Sana’s voice held a hint of surprise at his sudden call at this hour.

“Babe, I need you,” he said bluntly. He just wanted a distraction right now. Sana and sex was the perfect distraction for him to forget about Manisha.

“Like, right now?” she asked, caught off guard.

"Yeah. Can you come over? Or should I come to your place?" he asked, barely masking his impatience.

“Umm... Sidharth, my parents are home. And I can't come right now; I have to finish my assignment. Plus, it's past ten?” she explained.

“So that means we can’t meet before the weekend,” he muttered to himself, though she could hear him clearly.

“Yes,”

“When I need you why are you always unavailable? If this is how you’ll act, maybe I've to reconsider our contract.” he said in irritation.

“Sidharth, I don't—” Before Sana could finish, he abruptly ended the call.

“Useless,”

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” She threw her phone away in anger. “Asshole,”

Sidharth grabbed his car keys, rushed downstairs, then headed to the garage and into his car. He sped toward his favorite bar, determined to drink himself into oblivion. He wanted to get drunk, pass out, wake up with a brutal hangover, and carry that headache with him throughout the day.

He loved pain.

Pain was his best friend. It was the only thing that made him feel something— alive. Because inside, he was dead.

His soul had died long ago when he was just an eight-year-old boy, and that monstrous woman, Manisha, had violated him, taking advantage of his innocence.

“I was such a fool. A fucking fool!” Sidharth yelled in anger, banging on the steering wheel. Speeding up, he reached the bar in ten minutes.

✿✿✿

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