Chapter 28

A Step Toward Healing

The next morning, Rahul felt a little lighter. Rhea's words had given him something he hadn't felt in weeks—hope. But hope, he realized, wasn't enough to change his situation. He needed a plan, something concrete, to keep himself afloat while he figured out his next steps.

He texted Rhea again.

**"I need to get my life back on track. Do you think I can stay with you for a bit? Just until I sort things out?"**

The message felt heavy, laced with vulnerability. He wasn't used to asking for help, especially from family. But his options were dwindling, and Rhea was the one person who truly understood his struggle.

Her reply came almost immediately.

**"Of course, Rahul. Come anytime. My door is always open for you."**

Relief washed over him, but it was bittersweet. The idea of moving in with Rhea, of needing to rely on someone else, stung. But at least it wasn't home. At least it wasn't facing his parents' disappointment again.

That afternoon, Rahul packed what little he had and left his friend's apartment. The walk to Rhea's felt long, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He was bone-tired, not just from lack of sleep, but from carrying the weight of his own expectations. By the time he arrived at Rhea's door, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting the street in a warm, golden glow.

Rhea opened the door before he even had the chance to knock, pulling him into a tight hug. "I'm glad you're here," she said, her voice soft but filled with reassurance.

Rahul felt a lump in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He wasn't ready to fall apart, not yet.

### Small Steps

Living with Rhea was different. There was no tension in the air, no cold silences or biting words. She understood his struggle, even if she didn't have all the answers. And for the first time in weeks, Rahul didn't feel like he was walking on eggshells.

They spent the first few days just talking. Rhea listened, letting Rahul unload the frustrations, the anger, and the hurt he had been bottling up since he left home. He told her everything—the argument with his father, his crumbling motivation at work, and the fear gnawing at him that maybe, just maybe, he *was* failing.

Rhea didn't judge him. Instead, she offered quiet support, occasionally giving him practical advice when he asked for it, but mostly just letting him vent.

One evening, as they sat together in the small living room, Rhea turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "Rahul, I know things are hard right now, but you've come so far. You've made it to a place most people would never even dream of. Don't let this rough patch convince you that you're not capable."

Rahul sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But what if I'm not, Rhea? What if I've just been kidding myself this whole time? Maybe Dad's right… maybe I should have stuck to the safe path."

Rhea frowned, shaking her head. "The safe path? Rahul, the safe path was never meant for you. You're a creator, a dreamer. I've seen the passion you have for your work, and that's something no one can take from you. But I get it—following your dreams doesn't always feel safe. It feels terrifying. That's why most people don't do it."

Her words hit him hard, stirring something deep within. She was right, but fear had wrapped itself around him so tightly that it was suffocating his drive. He had been letting his father's words haunt him, but he realized that those words didn't have to define him.

For the first time in a long while, Rahul felt a glimmer of the fire that had once driven him, a tiny spark beneath the weight of his despair.

### A New Beginning

Over the next few days, Rahul slowly began to pick up the pieces. He returned to the studio, determined to prove to himself—and no one else—that he could still create something meaningful. His sketches, though hesitant at first, gradually started to show glimpses of his old creativity. It wasn't easy, but each small success felt like a victory.

But beyond work, he knew there was something bigger he needed to face—his family. Avoiding them wasn't sustainable, and deep down, he knew he couldn't rebuild his life without addressing the rift between them. The thought of returning home, of confronting his father again, filled him with dread, but he couldn't live in limbo forever.

One evening, after another long day at work, Rahul sat down with Rhea in the kitchen. The two of them had fallen into a quiet routine, but tonight there was an unspoken tension in the air. Rhea seemed to sense it too.

"You're thinking about them, aren't you?" she asked softly, her gaze steady.

Rahul nodded, not needing to clarify who she meant. "I don't know how to fix this, Rhea. I don't even know if they want to fix it."

Rhea placed her hand gently on his arm. "I think they do, Rahul. Especially Auntie. She's probably just waiting for the right moment. But with Uncle… it might take more time. He's stubborn, but that doesn't mean he's not hurting too. He just… doesn't know how to show it."

Rahul stared at the table, his heart heavy. He knew she was right. His father's anger was rooted in fear, and his mother's silence was likely her way of coping with the hurt. But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

"I don't know if I can face them yet," Rahul admitted quietly. "Not after everything."

Rhea squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You don't have to do it all at once. Just take the first step. Maybe talk to your mom first. You know she'll listen."

Rahul nodded slowly. It was a daunting thought, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever. Maybe Rhea was right—starting with his mother could ease the way.

Later that night, as he sat alone in the guest room, Rahul picked up his phone and stared at his mother's number. His finger hovered over the call button, his heart pounding. After what felt like an eternity, he pressed it.

The phone rang once, twice, and then—

"Rahul?" His mother's voice came through, soft and uncertain, as if she hadn't expected him to call.

For a moment, Rahul couldn't speak. His throat tightened with emotion, and all the words he had rehearsed in his mind seemed to vanish. But then he heard the tremor in his mother's voice, the subtle undercurrent of hope mixed with fear, and it broke something inside him.

"Mom…" His voice cracked, and the flood of emotions he had been holding back rushed out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There was a pause on the other end, and when his mother spoke again, her voice was thick with tears. "Oh, Rahul… I've missed you so much."

They talked for what felt like hours, the pain and misunderstanding between them slowly giving way to something softer, something more forgiving. Rahul didn't have all the answers, and neither did his mother. But for the first time, it felt like they were both willing to try.

As he hung up the phone that night, a sense of cautious relief washed over him. There was still a long way to go, and his father was still a looming obstacle in his mind, but this was a start. A small, fragile start, but a start nonetheless.

And for now, that was enough.