Chapter 27

The Weight of Solitude

The door slammed behind Rahul, but the sound barely registered in his ears. His father's words echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. "You're on your own." The gravity of that statement pulled at him, a sharp, aching reminder of the loneliness that now awaited him.

He wandered aimlessly through the streets of his neighborhood, his feet carrying him without purpose. The evening air was thick with humidity, but the weight he felt came from inside. He tried to push the conversation out of his mind, but it clung to him, feeding a growing sense of despair.

His father's disappointment was nothing new, but this—this was different. It wasn't just anger or frustration. It felt like a final severing of ties, as if his father had washed his hands of him. The thought cut deep, leaving a hollow pit in his chest.

Rahul found himself at the park where he used to come as a kid. He sat down on a bench, staring blankly at the swings swaying in the breeze. The quietness of the moment was deceptive; inside, his mind was a storm. He thought about everything—his dreams, his family, his future—and it all felt uncertain, slipping through his fingers like sand.

For a moment, he wished he could just turn back the clock. Go back to before the accident, when things were simpler, when his family still had hope in him. But that wasn't possible, and he knew it. He couldn't undo what had been done, and he couldn't be the person they wanted him to be anymore. He wasn't sure he even wanted to be.

### Unraveling

Days passed, and Rahul felt the strain of his decision pressing down on him like an invisible force. He hadn't returned home since that morning. His parents hadn't reached out either. His mother had always been the one to break the silence first, but this time, she hadn't. It was as though his father's ultimatum had drawn an unspoken line that even she wouldn't cross.

At first, he stayed with a friend from the internship, crashing on their couch and using his savings to cover meals. He threw himself into his work at the studio, spending long hours trying to distract himself from the pain of his family's rejection. But no matter how hard he worked, the thoughts crept in during the quiet moments—on the walk home, as he lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling.

The weight of it all began to take a toll. His focus faltered, and the creative spark that had once driven him flickered uncertainly. Each new design felt like a shadow of his former enthusiasm, as if the passion that had once fueled him was being smothered under the burden of everything else.

His coworkers noticed the shift, but no one said anything directly. They would ask how he was doing, and he would lie, telling them he was fine. He had always been good at pretending, but now, even that felt like a struggle.

One evening, as he sat alone in the small, dimly lit apartment, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Rhea.

**"How are you holding up?"**

Rahul stared at the screen for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't told her about the argument with his father, about how he had left home. In a way, he didn't want to admit how badly things had spiraled out of control.

**"I'm okay,"** he typed back, but the lie felt heavy.

Rhea's response was quick.

**"I talked to Mom. She told me things are really tense between you and Uncle. Rahul, are you sure you're okay? You don't have to go through this alone."**

Rahul clenched his jaw, his eyes stinging with emotion. He didn't want to burden Rhea with his problems. She had enough of her own. But as he stared at her message, the truth began to press against the walls he had built around himself, threatening to spill over.

Before he knew it, his fingers were moving across the screen, typing out everything—the fight, leaving home, the loneliness that now consumed him. When he finally hit send, he felt a strange mixture of relief and vulnerability, as though he had exposed a part of himself he hadn't wanted anyone to see.

Rhea's response was filled with empathy and frustration on his behalf. She offered him her unwavering support, but there was a deep sadness in her words too.

**"I'm so sorry, Rahul. I wish I could say something to make it better, but I know how hard this must be for you. Just know that you're not alone. I'm always here for you, no matter what."**

### The Depths of Despair

Weeks passed, and Rahul's situation grew more precarious. The couch at his friend's place started to feel less like a temporary refuge and more like a reminder of how adrift he had become. The money he had saved was running out faster than he expected, and he knew he couldn't keep living like this indefinitely.

At work, his performance started to slip. His supervisors noticed, and though they tried to be understanding, the pressure to deliver weighed on him. He wasn't the bright, enthusiastic intern they had hired anymore. His sketches were uninspired, his energy drained.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling day at the studio, Rahul's supervisor pulled him aside.

"Rahul, we've noticed you haven't been yourself lately. I know things can be tough sometimes, but we need you to focus. If this continues… we might have to reevaluate your position here."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He nodded numbly, the shame burning in his chest. He had worked so hard to get here, to prove to himself and his parents that this path was worth it. But now, everything was unraveling.

That night, as he sat on the couch in the darkness, the weight of his failure pressed down on him more than ever. He felt utterly lost, the cracks in his foundation widening with each passing day.

For the first time since leaving home, he considered going back. Apologizing. Giving in. Maybe his father had been right. Maybe he *was* chasing a dream that would never work out. Maybe he had been foolish to think he could do this on his own.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, something inside him resisted. He couldn't go back—not yet. Not until he had given himself the chance to try, really try, to make this work.

But the truth was, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going.

### A Cry for Help

Late that night, as the walls seemed to close in around him, Rahul made a decision. He couldn't do this alone anymore. Swallowing his pride, he picked up his phone and sent a message to Rhea.

**"I don't know what to do anymore."**

The simple words carried the weight of everything he had been holding back, and as he hit send, he felt tears finally break free. He didn't know if Rhea could help him, but right now, he just needed someone to listen.

Within minutes, her reply came.

**"You don't have to do this alone, Rahul. Let's figure this out together."**

For the first time in weeks, Rahul felt a flicker of hope, fragile but real. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he had thought. But even with Rhea's support, he knew the hardest part was still ahead—facing his family, his dreams, and his fears head-on.