Aarav's words echoed through the whole house—
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
And then—silence.
His own voice rang in his ears.
Shit!
What did I just do?
His hands trembled, a creeping coldness spreading through his body. In a normal situation, he could have just walked away, or maybe even apologized—but not now.
There was no going back.
Then came the chuckle.
Slow at first, but growing—distorted, mocking.
His uncle wiped the blood from his nose, his lips curling into the same smirk from Aarav's childhood—the one that haunted him. The face of his childhood monster.
His body shook.
This wasn't just fear.
This was the helplessness of the past clawing its way back.
"There is no going back! Just what the fuck did I get myself into?"
The chuckle became a full-blown laugh.
"Haha… Hahaha… HAHAHAHA!"
His uncle clapped, stepping forward.
"So, the little man grew up after all!"
Aarav's breath hitched.
"But no," his uncle continued, his tone turning sharp. "This isn't courage. Just because you grew up, put on some muscles, maybe think you're a wrestler now—you think that means you can kick me out?"
He took another step forward.
"You ungrateful bastard. Who do you think has been helping my sister so that a cockroach like you can find some leftovers to eat?"
Aarav's jaw clenched.
"And your house?" His uncle let out a vicious sneer.
His laughter grew, sharper, more manic.
"Just whose roof do you think you're living under, you cockroach?"
Then—
"Didn't your mother tell you?"
Aarav's heart stopped.
"Two years ago, she gave me part of this house."
Aarav's fingers twitched. His mind raced, but the world blurred.
"You live under it, you cockroa—"
His uncle's words cut off.
He froze, eyes darting past Aarav.
Aarav couldn't make sense of anything.
Mother… Mother, why?
His mind reeled as memories clawed their way back, dragging him to that night.
---
His uncle was drinking with his friends again—nothing new. The scent of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke filled the air. Laughter echoed as glasses clinked.
"Man, this is some expensive stuff," one of the men slurred.
"Where the hell did you even get this?"
His uncle grinned, waving a hand.
"Shhhh!" he hushed them dramatically.
Fourteen-year-old Aarav hesitated at the doorway, a cold drink in his hands. He had been sent to bring it.
His uncle's drunken gaze landed on him.
"The hell are you doing here, you little cockroach?"
Before Aarav could answer, a tight grip yanked at his hair. He winced, the cold drink almost slipping from his hands.
"You asked for a cold drink, huh?" his uncle sneered. "Ohh, that's right."
Aarav shivered, scared, his small body frozen in place.
His uncle snatched the bottle from him, took a swig, and then—
"Now get the hell out of here!"
He shoved Aarav backward. The door slammed behind him.
But Aarav didn't leave.
Instead, he listened.
And what he heard made his blood turn cold.
---
"I'm lucky," his uncle boasted to his friends, his words thick with alcohol. "My idiot sister trusts me too much. She has no idea. I drink as much as I want, even sell some, and she doesn't even question it."
Aarav felt his fists clench.
"As for the business, I give her the worst deals. The contracts? I take the best for myself."
Someone chuckled. "Damn, that's cold."
His uncle laughed.
"The best part? She believes all of it."
"Didn't her husband run the business before?"
"Exactly!" his uncle scoffed. "That guy actually knew what he was doing. My sister? She's just a helpless idiot."
Aarav's breath hitched.
His uncle's voice turned low, sinister.
"Soon, this house will be mine. Maybe I'll sell it."
A pause.
"And what about your sister and her kids?" one of his friends asked.
Silence. Then—
"Even if she's my biological sister… I simply don't care."
---
Back to the present.
"You bastard," Aarav snarled, fists shaking with fury.
His uncle smirked, wiping the blood from his nose.
Although Aarav had always known this leech for what he was, he had spent years hating his mother instead.
Blaming her.
Calling her blind. Stupid. Weak.
But now he understood.
She hadn't betrayed his father's will. She had simply trusted the wrong person.
Her own brother.
And Aarav had let it happen.
If only he had told her sooner.
If only he had gone to the police.
Maybe…
"What happened?! Blood? What's going on?"
His sister's frantic voice cut through the air as she rushed in.
Behind her, more people followed—his uncle's drinking buddies, a 22-year-old man with a sharp gaze, and a woman in her late 40s, her face twisted in disapproval.
Aarav stood still, his body thrumming with rage and exhaustion. But his heart pounded with something else too—conviction.
He knew he had done nothing wrong.
For the first time in his life, he had fought back. And his eyes burned with pride.
Then—
Slap!
His head snapped to the side.
Another.
And another.
The stinging pain barely registered.
His mother stood before him, her hands trembling.
"What is wrong with you?!" she shouted.
Her voice was sharp, but her eyes—they weren't just angry. They were desperate.
"You don't talk to anyone for so long, and the first time I see you at home, you're beating my brother?"
Her voice cracked. "How dare you, Aarav!"
His mother never raised her hand at him before.
But today—today was different.
Aarav clenched his fists. His knuckles were still bloodied, his breathing uneven.
Then, limping out, he felt another grip on his wrist.
His sister.
Before he could react—
Another slap.
This one was lighter. But it hurt more than all the others combined.
"Apologize to Uncle! He works so hard!"
A chuckle escaped Aarav's lips.
A dry, bitter laugh.
"You too?" he whispered.
She flinched.
Without another word, he turned.
He walked back through the same giant door he had entered.
And just like always, he headed to the only place he truly belonged.
Aarav sat in his room—a space with an old wooden almirah, a mirror, a single bed, and a study table—when a loud knock interrupted the silence.
Outside, his uncle struggled to hold back one of his drunken friends, who barked, "Where's that little rat?! Hitting your own uncle—how dare you?!"
His uncle, feigning composure, replied, "Let it be. He's still young. His blood is warm." But Aarav could hear the hidden satisfaction in his voice, as if he wanted the chaos to escalate.
Standing up, Aarav opened his drawer and pulled out a large knife, gripping it with steady hands as if this moment had always been waiting for him. He swung the door open, meeting their eyes—especially his uncle's—with a gaze so cold it sent a chill through the air.
"If any of you bring your melodrama into this room again, one of you will die."
His voice was eerily calm, leaving no room for doubt.
The tension snapped. Panic took over. His uncle's friends stumbled back, his relatives recoiled in fear, and his uncle, clutching his bleeding nose, muttered in terror, "Shit—he's a lunatic!" before turning and bolting down the hallway.
Coming into his room, he didn't bother to take off his shoes. He laid there, staring at the ceiling. Leeches and liars. This house is not my home—it was.
Memories of his father, mother, and sister's smiling faces flashed through his mind. But…
I think too much. Unlike my mother or sister, both too naive to realize we could've had more than just scraps. That bastard took everything, leaving us only enough to survive. I don't blame my mother anymore.
I was the one who abandoned them first. I isolated myself. Now, I barely recognize my own little sister.
I'll change. Not for anyone. I'll be strong—not just physically. Not cunning and deceptive like that asshole. But wise enough.
As he laid in bed, that thought lingered.
A grin formed on his face. I have to do something I've never done.
As he closed his eyes, he found himself in a place consumed by darkness. He struggled to see, but when he looked down, he noticed water—black, yet eerily reflective. His own image stared back at him, clear as day. He moved, watching the ripples distort his reflection with amusement. Just where is this place?
He kept moving until a silhouette of a woman appeared in the distance. She reached out, and as he stepped closer, a sharp, grating sound filled the void—shhhhh—like steel scraping against steel.
Then, he felt it.
A blade pierced through his body. More followed. Yet, the woman embraced him, pressing herself against him in a twisted, passionate hold. Their bodies, pierced and bound together by cold steel, became one.
A whisper brushed against his ear.
"Finally, we are one, my love."
Gasping for air, suffocating, Aarav felt as if he were drowning in his own blood.
—A dream?
His eyes shot open. It was just a dream. But it felt too real. His heart pounded as he checked his body—nothing. No wounds. No blood.
What the hell just happened?
His eyes drifted toward the clock. 2:46 AM.
Reaching for his phone, the sudden brightness made him squint. A notification. A DM? That's rare.
Gheya: Topic - Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs
Damn it, the presentation!
Frustrated, he quickly searched for materials, saved them, and shut his eyes again, hoping for sleep.
Aarav woke up to a new day. His swollen ankle had healed—well, almost. He could put weight on it now, though he still walked with a slight limp.
He took a bath, the cool water waking him up completely. Afterward, he slicked his hair back, exposing his face fully. A small smile appeared as he looked in the mirror.
Stepping out of his room, he moved through the house with the same smile. His eyes searched for someone, but the bastard was nowhere to be seen.
Still too early. His uncle was probably dead drunk, only waking up around noon.
The first person he saw was his sister. The moment she noticed him, she froze—then quickly turned and disappeared into her room.
He sighed and started toward her but stopped when he saw his mother.
His expression shifted. He lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs.
"Forgive this lowly son of yours," he said, his voice unsteady.
Tears ran down his face.
"I didn't want to do this… but…"
His grip tightened slightly.
"Forgive me. Forgive your son."