"Behind every guarded facade lies a storm of vulnerability—a battle fought in silence, where tears become the voice of wounds too deep to share."

THE dim light from the bedside lamp casts a warm glow over the room. Sidharth lay on top of Sana, his breath ragged and mingling with hers as their bodies trembled from the aftermath of their shared passion. His lips brushed her temple softly before he withdrew, rolling to the side.

Without a word, he stood and headed to the bathroom. Sana watched him with a soft smile, the intimacy of the moment filling her heart with a strange warmth. She pulled the covers up, trying to compose herself as she waited for him to return.

Minutes later, Sidharth emerged with a damp cloth in his hand. He knelt beside her, carefully cleaning her with a tenderness that always caught her off guard.

"You don't have to,' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just stay still" he replied curtly, finishing his task before tossing the cloth aside. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin.

Sana's cheeks flushed as a shy smile spread across her face. "You're too sweet sometimes, Sidharth," she teased softly, unable to hide her affection.

Ignoring her comment, Sidharth stood and pulled on his boxer briefs and pants. "Get dressed and come downstairs," he instructed, his tone neutral, almost cold.

The abruptness of his voice chipped away at the tender moment they had shared, but Sana nodded, her smile faltering.

Downstairs, Sidharth moved with practice ease in the kitchen. He prepared a plate of salad and sandwiches, along with a glass of freshly squeezed juice. Placing everything neatly on the table, he leaned against the counter, waiting for her.

Sana appeared moments later, dressed casually but with her hair slightly disheveled. She glanced at the food on the table and then at Sidharth, her heart fluttering at the small gesture.

"Join me?" she asked softly, her voice carrying a hopeful edge.

"I already ate," Sidharth lied, turning toward the stairs.

Sana frowned, her brows knitting together in frustration. "Sidharth, please. I don't like eating alone."

"I need to change," he replied, brushing her off.

Her patience snapped. "Why are you like this, Sidharth? Am asking too much from you?"

He stopped mid-step, his back to her. "Sana, don't start."

"No, I'm serious," she continued, her voice rising.

"Sana..."

"It's been a month since we've been together, and I keep seeing you acting like this. An asshole."

"SANA!" He yelled in anger. "Mind your tongue before me."

"No." She said firmly. "Sidharth, I'm not asking for anything crazy from you. It's just food, Sidharth. Just fucking food. This is so basic! Can't you just sit here and eat a little with me?"

He turned to face her, his jaw clenched. "How many times do I have to tell you not to yell at me? Did you forget about your punishment?" His voice was low but sharp, a warning.

"And how many times do I have to beg you to treat me like a normal person, Sidharth? Like someone you care about?" Her voice cracked with anger and frustration.

"I don't care about you. We are just in an arrangement. Don't forget that." He reminded her.

"I didn't forget that. I remember what we are, Sidharth. I'm just asking something basic from you. Can't you give me that?" Hurt was evident in her voice.

"No." he said firmly.

"Sidharth, why are you like this?" Her voice was already defeated.

"I said, fucking stop." He snapped, dismissing the topic, as he walked away and went upstairs.

"Why are you acting like a stubborn child?" She yelled.

That word—child—struck a nerve. His face darkened, and his fists tightened at his sides.

"Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you!" Sidharth yelled back. His words were venomous, each syllable dripping with unspoken pain and anger.

The insult hit her like a slap, and tears welled up in her eyes. “You called me a bitch?” she asked, her voice trembling as her heart cracked under the weight of his words.

“As if you didn't call me an asshole sometimes ago. Happy gender equality Sana.” he shouted again, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and something else—something he refused to name.

Sana sat there in silence, confused, unable to understand what she had done wrong or why her request seemed so unreasonable to him.

Sidharth entered his room, locking the door behind him making a thud sound. He slid down to the floor, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. Resting his head on his knees, he closed his eyes as silent tears began to fall.

The room was dark, except for the faint light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. His chest felt heavy, weighed down by memories he tried so hard to bury but couldn’t escape.

A scene from his past crept into his mind, vivid and cruel.

Eight-year-old Sidharth sat at the dining table alongside his parents and his father’s business partners, who had brought their family along. The couple was originally from Italy but lived in America, and tonight’s dinner was a fusion of Indian and Italian dishes.

For his father, it was a business dinner, a performance. For his mother and him, it was an obligation.

The business partner’s two children were seated across from Sidharth. The boy, Enzo, was older by a few years, while the girl, Arianna, was about Sidharth’s age, maybe younger.

Sidharth tried his best to act like a good boy. He sat quietly, a smile plastered on his face—not because he wanted to, but because his father had promised to take him to Disneyland during the winter holidays if he behaved. The thought of celebrating Christmas at Disneyland filled him with a small, fragile joy.

As the adults engaged in polite conversation, the children were left to entertain themselves. Arianna, with her bright hazel eyes and mischievous smile, poked Sidharth’s arm. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

“What’s that?” she whispered, her face scrunching up in disgust as she pointed at a green dish on the table.

“It’s called palak paneer,” Sidharth replied softly. “It’s made with spinach and paneer.”

“Is it good?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Sidharth hesitated. He hated spinach and had never eaten the dish before. His gaze flickered to his mother, who was smiling politely as she ate it. Maybe she liked it. Or maybe she was pretending.

“I think it’s good,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“Will you try it with me?” Arianna asked, her voice hopeful.

Sidharth glanced at the dish again, his heart sinking. He looked toward his father, who was already watching him with a hard glare, daring him to refuse. Swallowing his reluctance, Sidharth forced a smile.

“Sure,” he said, nodding.

Both Arianna and Sidharth were served a small portion of palak paneer. She took a tentative bite, her face contorting comically before she giggled and continued eating. Sidharth, however, sat frozen, staring at the green mass on his plate.

Under the oppressive gaze of his father, he finally gathered a spoonful and shoved it into his mouth. The bitter taste of spinach hit him immediately, and his stomach churned in protest. Seconds later, he gagged and vomited onto his plate.

The room fell silent.

Arianna looked disgusted, her laughter gone. Enzo and his parents chuckled, as if Sidharth’s humiliation was the evening’s entertainment. His father’s face turned red with rage, while his mother shook her head in disappointment.

“What kind of behavior is this, Sidharth? Can’t you eat like a normal child?” his mother scolded. “Look at Enzo and Arianna—they’re eating just fine!”

His father sighed, his voice laced with contempt. “I don’t know what to do with this boy.”

Sidharth sat there, his head bowed, tears pooling in his eyes. He clutched the fabric of his shirt tightly, flinching as his father called, her.

“Manisha, take him to his room. Make sure he finishes his dinner.”

“Papa, no!” Sidharth cried, running to his father’s side. “Please, I don’t want to go with her!”

“Stop your drama, Sidharth,” his father snapped. “Grow up.”

“She’s a bad aunty, Papa,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “Please, I’ll eat—just don’t send me with her.”

“Enough!” his mother interjected, her tone sharp. “Manisha is a good woman. Don’t speak about her like that. She’s like a mother to you.”

But Sidharth knew better. Manisha, the housekeeper, was far from kind. Her punishments were harsh, and her anger was terrifying.

Sidharth clung to his father’s arm, desperate for protection. “Papa, please!”

“Take him,” his father ordered coldly as Manisha entered the room.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied with a chilling politeness, grabbing Sidharth’s arm. “Let’s go, baby.”

Her grip was firm, almost bruising. Sidharth could feel her anger radiating off her, and he knew what awaited him behind closed doors.

“Papa, please don’t let her take me!” he begged one last time, his voice breaking.

“You’re grounded for a week,” his father said as he sipped his wine. “And forget about Disneyland.”

Sidharth stopped struggling. The promise of Disneyland was forgotten, replaced by the dread of being alone with Manisha. A week grounded meant a week of fear, a week of punishment.

As Manisha dragged him away, his cries echoed down the hall. His parents remained at the table, their faces indifferent, their focus back on the business dinner.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Sidharth flinched.

“What were you telling your Papa?” Manisha demanded, dragging him toward the bed.

Sidharth sobbed uncontrollably, unable to form coherent words. She forced him to stand still on the bed, her grip firm and unrelenting.

“I asked you something,” she said, her tone icy as she grabbed his face roughly, making him look at her.

“That… that you’re a bad aunty,” he stammered through his tears.

The sharp sting of a slap came almost immediately. And then another.

Sidharth cried out, clutching his face. “Mumma…” he whimpered, his voice trembling with fear and pain.

“How dare you tell them about me? That I’m a bad aunty? Huh?” she yelled, her voice echoing in the room, making him cry even harder.

“You deserve a good punishment, Sidharth,” she hissed, her words cold and merciless as she began to remove his t-shirt.

Sidharth froze, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on her. He didn’t fully understand the meaning behind her actions, but dread coursed through his veins. Fear was etched into every part of him because he knew, whatever the punishment was, he wouldn’t like it.

And he didn’t.

The beating that followed was brutal, leaving him trembling in pain and fear, his cries muffled as he tried to stifle them to avoid provoking her further.

"Will you tell them I’m a bad aunty again?” Manisha asked coldly, the wooden stick landing harshly on his back.

Sidharth yelped in pain, tears streaming down his face as he whimpered, “No. Never.”

The stick fell to the floor with a dull thud, and he let out a shaky breath, relieved that the beating had stopped. But before he could relax, Manisha pulled him into a suffocating embrace.

He didn’t resist, too afraid to provoke her again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” she cooed, pressing a wet kiss to his tear-streaked cheek. Disgust churned in his stomach, but he stayed silent, dreading another strike.

“You’re my good baby. You know how much I love you, don’t you?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet.

Sidharth nodded reluctantly, knowing it wasn’t true but desperate to avoid her wrath.

“Always be a good boy. If you behave like a good boy for me, I won’t have to hurt you again,” she promised, her tone dripping with deceit.

His innocent eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. “Good boy?”

“Yes,” she replied, flashing an overly sweet smile. “Be a good boy for me, and I’ll never beat you again.”

“Really?” he asked, his small voice trembling with cautious optimism.

“Yes, I promise,” she said, her words as insidious as poison.

“Okay, I’ll be a good boy then,” he agreed innocently, unaware of the darkness lurking behind her saccharine facade.

If only he had known her true intentions.

Back in the present, Sidharth wiped his face roughly, ashamed of the tears that had slipped out. He buried his head deeper into his knees, whispering to himself, “You’re not that helpless boy anymore. You’re not.”

But deep down, he knew the scars of that night—and countless others like it—had never truly healed.

“I know I’m broken,” he muttered, his voice shaking with pain. “I know I’m not normal. A normal person eats with others, laughs with them, and feels at ease. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

His breathing grew uneven as the weight of his emotions pressed down on him. “I hate this. I hate how I feel. I hate that I can’t even share a simple meal without feeling judged, without feeling like every glance is dissecting me, mocking me.”

A bitter sob escaped his throat as he bit his lip hard. “It’s because of her. That bitch. She destroyed me. She stole my trust, my innocence, my peace, my fucking life. I hate her. I fucking hate her!”

Tears streamed down his face as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, trying to hold together the fragile pieces of his soul. The room echoed with his muffled cries, years of bottled-up anguish pouring out.

Finally, he forced himself up from the floor, wiping his face harshly. His fists clenched as he scolded himself for breaking down.

“You’re not a child anymore, Sidharth. You’re a grown man. Get a grip,” he muttered bitterly, pacing the room.

He stopped by the bathroom and caught sight of his red, swollen eyes in the mirror. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, leaning over the sink.

Splashing cold water on his face, he tried to wash away the evidence of his vulnerability. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the raw emotion in his reflection remained.

“This is why,” he whispered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “This is why I can’t let anyone in.”

Images of Sana flashed in his mind, her words full of frustration and longing echoing in his ears.

But the walls he had built around himself were high and unyielding, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let them down—even for her.

He grabbed a towel, dried his face roughly, and straightened his posture. Determined to shove his emotions back into the shadows, he changed into fresh clothes, combed his hair, sprayed on cologne, and slipped on dark sunglasses to hide his red eyes.

By the time he came downstairs, his icy facade was firmly back in place.

Sana was sitting on the couch, her plate of food untouched.

“You didn’t eat?” he asked casually, sitting beside her as if nothing had happened.

She looked at him in shock for a moment before masking her emotions, straightening her posture.

“No,” she said curtly, her tone laced with disappointment. “Sidharth, was I asking too much of you? I only asked you to eat with me. I even told you I don’t like eating alone. But you just left me here.”

“I’m not your boyfriend, Sana,” he replied coldly. “I’m not here to entertain you, eat with you, or whatever.”

“Seriously, Sidharth?” she retorted, her anger flaring. “I just asked you to eat something with me. Not for a kiss or a hug or to cuddle me. I’m not acting like a girlfriend. It was a basic request, dammit!”

Sidharth stayed silent, processing her words. She was right, but he couldn’t give her even that.

“Will you eat or not?” he asked after a moment, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Only if you join me,” she replied boldly, refusing to back down.

After a pause, he stood. “Alright then, let’s go.”

“Where?” she asked, her tone teasing.

“To hell, I guess?” he muttered irritably. “Your home, Sana. Where else?”

“I’m not going home with you,” she declared, folding her arms.

“What do you mean?” His patience was wearing thin.

“After what you did? No way. I’ll book a cab,” she said, pulling out her phone.

Before she could react, Sidharth snatched it from her hand.

“I’m dropping you home, and that’s final,” he said firmly, shoving the phone into his pocket.

“No,” she retorted, marching out of the living room.

“Don’t you dare step out of this house, Sana,” he warned sharply.

She paused by the door and shot him a defiant look. “Do what you want, Sidharth Vyas, but I’m not going with you. I’d rather walk home.”

“Stop before you regret it, Sana,” he warned again.

“Stop me if you can,” she challenged, storming out.

With a frustrated growl, he followed her and grabbed her arm.

“Let me go!” she demanded, struggling against his grip.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered before scooping her up in his arms.

“Sidharth, put me down!” she yelled, wriggling in his hold.

“Shut up,” he said, smacking her lightly on the backside.

“You’re a monster!” she cried, her frustration mounting.

“Good,” he replied smugly, unlocking the car and setting her in the passenger seat. He fastened her seatbelt and locked the door before she could escape.

“I hate you,” she spat.

“Feelings are mutual,” he replied flatly, starting the car. “Now act like a good girl. And, shut up.”

“Sure, Mr. Bad Boy,” she shot back mockingly.

“Glad you know who I am,” he muttered under his breath as he drove away.

✿✿✿

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