Chapter 7

2022

As the boy and Harshit limped back home, their bodies aching and clothes torn from the brawl, they were greeted by the heavy silence of the night. The once warm and welcoming atmosphere of the house now felt like a suffocating weight pressing down on them. The dim lights flickered through the windows, casting long shadows on the ground as they approached the entrance.

Harshit, trying to maintain his usual bravado, muttered under his breath, "Well, that was something. We sure showed them, didn't we?"

"I really need to lose some fucking weight, these extra kilos are finally kicking in at the worst moments possible." the boy said barely able to walk.

The door swung open, revealing his Mama standing there, arms crossed and eyes blazing with an unfathomable rage that sent a shiver down their spines. His usually calm and composed demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was flushed with fury, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that it seemed like she was holding back an explosion of anger.

The boy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze pierce through him. Harshit, usually quick with a deflection, found himself at a loss for words. The silence stretched on, unbearably tense, as they stood there, battered and bruised, unable to move or speak.

Finally, Mama's voice broke the silence, cold and trembling with barely suppressed fury. "What in the world have you two done?"

The boy, still catching his breath from the fight, tried to muster some semblance of an explanation. "Took care of things."

But he cut him off sharply, his voice rising with each word. "I don't want to hear it! Look at you! Both of you! You're a disgrace! Going out there, getting into fights like common hooligans—do you have any idea what you've done?"

Harshit, trying to step in and shield the boy from the brunt of his wrath, stammered, "Father, we—"

His eyes snapped to Harshit, and he recoiled slightly under his intense gaze. "And you, Harshit! I expected better from you. What were you thinking, dragging him into this madness? Do you have any idea the kind of danger you put yourselves in?"

The boy, feeling a mix of guilt and defiance, finally found his voice. "Mama, L was being catcalled in the school, letting that go any longer would have further jeopardised her future in academics, regardless, it's not like I killed those guys…we just beat them to a bloody pulp that's all."

"Enough!" he roared, the sheer volume of his voice making them both flinch. "You think this is some kind of game? You think you can just go out there, play the hero, and come back like nothing happened? You're lucky to be standing here at all!"

The boy's defiance began to wane under the relentless assault of his words. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, leaving behind a gnawing sense of shame. But he did not lower his gaze.

But Mama wasn't done. His voice softened slightly, but it was no less intense. "Do you have any idea what it's like to wait here, wondering if I'll ever see you again? To think that you might not come back home because of some foolish, reckless decision? You may think you're invincible, but you're not. You're just a boy—a boy who's been through too much, but that doesn't give you the right to throw your life away like this."

Harshit, still feeling the sting of her words, tried to offer a feeble apology. "We're sorry, Father. We didn't mean for it to go this far."

But the boy, despite his own guilt, couldn't let the moment pass without a final word. "We had to do something, Mama. They crossed a line, and we couldn't just let it slide."

Mama's eyes softened just a fraction, but his anger was far from gone. "And what do you think this accomplishes? Violence only begets more violence. You may have won the fight tonight, but what about tomorrow? What about the consequences?"

"We've taught them plenty about the consequences and if they dare to repeat it again i'll make sure they are shot at point blank fucking range." the boy said finally losing the rest of the fight left in him.

Seeing the shift in his demeanor, Mama's expression softened further, though his voice remained firm. "You need to understand that this isn't the way, my son. You have a family that cares about you, that worries about you. We've lost so much already… don't make us lose you too."

The morning light was still dim when the boy quietly gathered his things. The house was silent, the only sounds coming from the occasional creak of the floorboards under his weight. He paused for a moment, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His eyes traced the contours of his unfit, overweight body, the remnants of yesterday's fight evident in the bruises on his face. His mind echoed with harsh words he had heard too many times—useless, fat, weak. But now, those words no longer stung as they once did. They fueled a fire that had been ignited within him, a resolve that was unshakable.

As he stepped outside, the early morning air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed he had left behind. He glanced back at the house, at the windows where his family slept, oblivious to his departure. There was no farewell, no lingering sentiment. Just a firm decision to leave, to face whatever awaited him back home with a steely resolve.

The train ride back felt longer than it had on the way there, the journey marked by a quiet contemplation. His thoughts were a turbulent sea of memories—his father's disappointment, his mother's concern, the recent confrontation with Harshit, and the unexpected moments of clarity with Akari. It all swirled together, but underneath it all was the resolve to change, to no longer be the person who disappointed his family, who let others dictate his life.

As he arrived back in Mumbai, the noise of the city greeted him like an old adversary. The familiar chaos was both overwhelming and oddly comforting, a reminder that life here never paused, no matter how broken one felt. He made his way back to his house, each step heavier than the last as the weight of what awaited him settled in his chest.

The moment he stepped through the door, his mother was there, her face a mask of both relief and anger. "You think you can just leave like that? Without a word? Do you know how worried I was?"

He stood there, taking her words without flinching. She continued, her voice rising in pitch, "Your Mama called. He told me everything! Do you have any idea how reckless you were? What if something happened to you?"

Before he could respond, she slapped him hard across the face. The force of it stung, but he remained still, his gaze unwavering. His father appeared then, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. "So this is what you've become? A thug? A disgrace to this family?"

The boy's resolve did not falter. He stood tall, shoulders squared, even as the sting of the slap lingered on his cheek. His father's words, once capable of cutting deep, now bounced off him, unable to penetrate the wall he had built around himself.

"I'm going to change," the boy finally said, his voice calm and steady. "I'm done being what you all think I am. I'm done letting everyone else decide who I should be."

His father's anger flared at this. "And you think running off to start fights will make you a man? You think that's how you'll earn respect?"

The boy looked his father in the eye, unafraid. "No.You know what, I have always, essentially, been waiting. Waiting to become something else, waiting to be that person I always thought I was on the verge of becoming, waiting for that life I thought I would have. In my head, I was always one step away, but not anymore. I'll do whatever it takes to fix this, even if it means fighting. But I'll do it on my terms."

His mother, still reeling from the slap she had delivered, tried to intervene. "Please, let's just talk about this. You don't have to do this alone."

But the boy shook his head. "I do. After all i've been doing this all alone for so long anyways."

There was a long silence. His father stared at him, perhaps seeing for the first time the determination in his son's eyes. The boy expected another slap, more harsh words, but instead, his father simply turned away, his voice hollow. "Do whatever you want. I'm done caring."

His mother's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't say anything more. She knew, perhaps better than anyone, that her son was no longer the boy who could be swayed by words alone. He had made up his mind.

The boy stood before the mirror, his reflection a pale imitation of what he once was. His body, though still softened by years of neglect, carried a new weight—one not of fat, but of determination. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as if to squeeze out every ounce of weakness that lingered in his bones. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something deeper than resolve lighting up the brown of his irises.

The iron weights were heavier than they looked, almost mocking in their resistance. His arms trembled as he tried to lift the barbell, his muscles screaming in protest. Each repetition was a battle, each set an act of defiance against a body that had grown accustomed to comfort. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the grit and determination that kept him going. The pain was sharp, yet he welcomed it, knowing that every ounce of suffering was a step closer to reclaiming the strength he had long forsaken.

"Get another rep in man." the trainer said walking by.

"Get the fuck outta my face." the boy lashed out.

The boy's feet pounded against the worn track, each step laborious, each breath a struggle. The world around him blurred as he focused on the path ahead, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Days turned into weeks, the once clumsy strides becoming sure, the once gasping breaths evening out. The camera of his mind captured every moment, documenting the subtle transformation. His pace quickened, his legs moved with purpose, and with each lap, he shed a layer of the old self, revealing something new beneath—a resilience that was growing stronger with every step.

"Keep running c'mon!" the trainer yelled from besides him.

"Wanna hear a joke?" the boy asked gasping for air.

"Not real-" before the trainer could finish the boy continued, "knock knock, who's there? Go fuck your face in the dim light of cummingshire." 

The dawn broke in soft hues of pink and purple as he pulled on his running shoes, the quiet streets of the city still bathed in the remnants of night. The air was cool against his skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth of his bed. Yet, there was no hesitation, no longing to return to the comfort he left behind. His movements were synchronized with the silence of the morning, his footsteps the only sound as he jogged past closed shops and sleeping houses. The world was still, but within him, a storm raged, fueling each step, each breath, as he chased the person he was determined to become.

2023

He stood on the scale, watching the numbers drop week after week. His body, once burdened by excess, was leaner now, sharper, his face a mask of determination. But as the montage progressed, a shadow crept in. The camera of his mind showed him pushing harder, lifting heavier, running faster. His eyes, once filled with resolve, now carried a hollowness, an obsessive drive that bordered on the dangerous. He stared at his reflection, flexing muscles that had once been soft, but the satisfaction was fleeting. There was a hunger in his gaze, a yearning that could not be quenched by mere physical transformation.

He lay on the gym floor, his body trembling with exhaustion. His breath came in shallow gasps, sweat pooling beneath him. The workout had been brutal, pushing him to the brink, but as he stared up at the ceiling, a small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He had reached his goal—his body was no longer the soft, undefined form it once was. But as he lay there, the camera of his mind lingered on his face, capturing the mix of pride and emptiness, the realization that while he had gained strength, he had lost something just as vital. 

The boy had barely stepped out of the gym when he saw her, standing at the edge of the parking lot, her figure framed by the golden light of the setting sun. N. She looked as though she had been waiting for him, her arms folded across her chest, an expression of both concern and surprise playing on her features. Her hair, longer than he remembered, fell in waves over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made her seem almost ethereal.

For a moment, he considered turning around and pretending he hadn't seen her. But before he could make his escape, she called out to him, her voice laced with something that made him stop in his tracks.

"Is that really you?" Her tone was soft, almost incredulous, as if she was seeing a ghost. Her eyes ran over his form, taking in the changes—his leaner frame, the sharper angles of his face, the darkness that lingered in his eyes. "You… you look different. Were you just running away from me?"

"Different good, or different like 'oh God, how many cats did you eat in a week long time'? Also no I wasn't running away from you, it's not like i've subtly and sarcastically implied that in our past." His voice was light, casual, but there was an edge to it—a defense mechanism kicking in, like an old habit he couldn't shake. He gave her a lopsided grin, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.

N blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his remark, but quickly regained her composure. "Different like I almost didn't recognize you," she replied, her tone softening as she stepped closer. Her eyes, filled with an all-too-familiar concern, searched his face for something, perhaps a trace of the boy she once knew.

He shifted his weight, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a polite way of saying I look like I crawled out of a grave."

Her lips curved into a small smile, but it didn't quite hide the worry etched in her eyes. "It's just… it's been a while. You've… changed."

"Yeah, turns out, self-loathing, bad parenting, neglectful childhood and a gym membership do wonders for the physique." He let out a short, dry laugh, more for himself than for her. "Who knew?"

She didn't laugh, just watched him with those eyes that saw too much. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I was planning on buying a gym membership?" He shrugged, trying to keep the conversation light, but he could see that she wasn't buying it. N hadn't always been able to see through his jokes, past the walls he built with sarcasm and dark humor.

"That something was wrong," she corrected, her voice quiet but firm. "That you were going through all of this… alone."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, his gaze dropping to the pavement as if the cracks in the asphalt were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. When he finally looked up, there was something almost vulnerable in his expression, though it was quickly masked by another smirk.

"Well, you know me," he said, his tone flippant. "I've always been more of a 'suffer in silence' kind of guy. Keeps things interesting. I am basically batman but not batman."

N sighed, a mixture of frustration and sadness coloring her features. "You don't always have to be so… so closed off. I'm here, you know? I've always been here."

He met her gaze, and for a split second, something in his eyes flickered—something that might have been regret, or guilt, or both. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same guarded look he always wore.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, the bravado in his voice faltering. "But that's kind of the problem, isn't it? I'm not sure I know how to… let people in. Not even you."

She didn't respond right away, just looked at him with an expression that was equal parts hurt and understanding. "You don't have to do this alone," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can trust me."

He forced a grin, though it felt hollow even to him. "Trust is a tricky thing, N. Last time I checked, it didn't exactly work out in my favor."

N frowned, clearly taken aback by his words. "That's not fair, and you know it. I'm not… I'm not her. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," he said quickly, more quickly than he intended. "I know you're not. But I think I've just gotten used to keeping people at arm's length. It's safer that way."

"Safer for who?" she asked, her tone sharper now, a hint of frustration creeping in.

"Probably for everyone," he quipped, the humor in his voice forced. "Besides, you've got your own life. You don't need to be dragged into my mess."

N shook her head, exasperation clear in her eyes. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah," he said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But it's part of my charm."

She sighed, clearly realizing that pushing him wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Just… don't disappear again, okay? You don't have to go through this on your own. Not if you don't want to."

He nodded, though he wasn't sure he meant it. "I'll try," he said, the words feeling heavier than they should have.

N hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then she just shook her head and offered him a small, sad smile. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

As the boy walked away, something gnawed at him, a twinge of guilt that grew heavier with each step. He could feel N's eyes on his back, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. His heart thudded dully in his chest, each beat reminding him that he'd just brushed off the one person who had always been there, who had tried, time and again, to reach him.

He stopped in his tracks, his hand hovering in the air as if to catch the moment before it completely slipped away. The boy glanced back over his shoulder, seeing N still standing there, her expression a mixture of hope and resignation, as if she was preparing herself to watch him disappear into the distance once more.

A wave of regret washed over him, and before he could second-guess himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Hey, N…" he called, his voice softer now, the usual edge absent. She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Yeah?" she responded, almost hesitantly, as though she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"Do you…" He paused, struggling with the unfamiliar sensation of vulnerability, but then he pushed through. "Do you want to grab a coffee? Or something?"

For a moment, there was silence. The boy almost expected her to laugh, to dismiss the offer as too little, too late. But instead, he saw her face light up, a genuine smile spreading across her lips—one he hadn't seen in what felt like forever.

"Yeah," she said, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and relief. "Yeah, I'd love that."

As she started to walk toward him, the boy felt a knot of guilt tighten in his stomach. He had invited her on impulse, trying to make up for his coldness just moments before, but now that he saw the joy in her eyes, the weight of his actions bore down on him.

He realized he didn't deserve her happiness, not after how he'd been treating her, not after all the times he had pushed her away. But it was too late to back out now. N was already by his side, her steps light, as if a burden had just been lifted off her shoulders.

"So, where to?" she asked, her voice bright, filled with the same hopefulness he had tried to squash earlier.

He forced a smile, though the guilt gnawed at him from the inside. "There's a café a few blocks down. I've been meaning to try their coffee."

N nodded eagerly, falling into step beside him. She didn't seem to notice the tension in his posture, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. For now, she was just happy to be with him, and that realization made the boy feel even worse.

As they walked, he could hear her talking, her voice lively and full of the energy he once found so comforting. But all he could think about was the chasm he had created between them, the distance he had put there deliberately, only to pull her close again in a moment of weakness.

He listened to her talk about the mundane details of her life, nodding and offering the occasional reply, all the while wrestling with the growing sense of unease in his chest. This was a mistake, he thought. He wasn't the person she deserved, and no amount of coffee or small talk could change that.

But N didn't seem to care. She was just happy to be with him, and that was enough—for now.

As they approached the café, she looked up at him, her eyes full of warmth. "Thanks for this," she said quietly. "It means a lot to me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing the words past the guilt. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Me too."

But even as he said it, the guilt remained, gnawing at him from the inside, a constant reminder that he was playing a role he wasn't sure he could keep up. Still, for now, he would go through the motions, pretending that he could be the person she believed him to be, even if it was only for a little while longer.