As the clock neared midnight, I found myself pacing back and forth on the terrace, the ember of a cigarette casting a faint glow in the darkness. Lost in my thoughts, I continued my restless stroll until a figure emerged from the door leading to the balcony. It was Jithin. Offering him a puff, I was met with his gentle refusal; he was attempting to quit. I nodded in understanding, a silent apology lingering in the air. Bringing my pacing to a halt, I moved towards the balcony's edge, and Jithin joined me in solemn silence. Hours passed without a word exchanged between us. Eventually, fatigue weighed heavy upon us, and we found ourselves drifting into slumber right there on the balcony, under the vast expanse of the night sky.

We awoke to Chechi's voice, questioning why we were sleeping on the terrace. I rose without answering, noticing Jithin still lying on the ground. My mind turned to my other brother, absent since my return home. A night had passed, and still, there was no sign of him. Where could he be? The question lingered, unspoken, as I hesitated to voice it to Chechi. Chechi went back down, and I turned to Jithin and asked him why he lied about my brother's suicide. Jithin, still lying on the ground, replied, "I don't know, man. When I phoned you, I didn't know what to tell you, and I hesitated a bit, so I just told you whatever came to my mind in a rush. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"Fuck, why did he do it?"

"Please don't beat yourself over this. I know it's been some years since you have been in touch, and you feel somewhat responsible for this, but trust me, he had his demons."

I struck another match, the flare illuminating the tip of the cigarette as I brought it to my lips. With a deep inhale, I savored the bitter sweetness of the smoke, tendrils curling lazily into the morning air. Resting my hand on the small wall of the balcony, I peered out into the lingering dawn, the world below beginning to stir with the early risers.

Among the few figures still milling about, I imagined their hushed conversations, likely revolving around my brother's untimely demise. Words like "coward" and "weak" likely peppered their judgments. Yet, amidst the whispers, a sudden clarity washed over me.

Why endure this relentless cycle of existence? The suffocating weight of societal expectations, the endless parade of faces lost in their own struggles—what purpose did it serve? It was a question I had asked myself countless times, but now it seemed more pressing than ever. And then, amidst the cacophony of doubts, a steadfast conviction emerged. Despite the chaos and despair, I knew deep within my heart that my brother was not like the rest of us, trapped in this maze of existence. He was not a coward, nor was he weak. His absence only underscored the courage it took to confront his own demons, a bravery I could only admire from afar.

Feeling a hand rest on my shoulder, I turned to find Jithin still by my side. "Let's have a cup of tea," he suggested softly. Nodding in agreement, I followed him back to the hall. As we entered, I noticed several familiar faces among the gathering, their sympathetic gazes directed towards me. Yet, amidst the sea of mourners, I couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment towards some of them. Why were they here now, I wondered, when they had never shown any care or concern for my brother while he was alive? They seemed like vultures, swooping in to feed off the tragedy of his death.

Suddenly, I felt a frail hand on mine, belonging to a weak, slim old lady offering her condolences. Pulling my hand away abruptly, I excused myself and stepped outside, needing the solace of the open air. Jithin followed silently, understanding the turmoil brewing within me. We stepped outside, the gate looming before us, its black paint glistening faintly in the morning light. As we crossed the threshold, my eyes caught sight of a poster affixed to the wall nearby. The poster depicted his smiling face, a stark contrast to the somber mood that hung in the air. With a heavy heart, I lingered for a moment, silently paying my respects before continuing on with Jithin by my side.

As we walked, my mind wandered, grappling with the sudden flood of emotions brought on by my brother's death. It seemed surreal, considering I had been numb just moments before. I had convinced myself that nothing mattered, but now I found myself confronting the stark reality of his absence. It had been three long years since we last spoke, and yet, the memory of that day remained vivid in my mind.

Three years ago... the recollection flooded back with surprising clarity. I began my work as a graphic designer when the call came—news of my mother's second husband's passing. It was my brother on the phone, delivering the news. Surprisingly, I felt nothing upon hearing it. While I didn't harbor hatred towards him, I couldn't shake the deep-seated resentment I held towards my mother for remarrying.

I was my mother's child, I was at a distance with my father, Hari was the one who was the closest to my father.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

I picked up the call and answered, "Tell me, Sreejith."

"You should come here as soon as possible, Renjith Annan died," that's what we all called him, Annan.

"I don't think I can," I said without any emotion.

"Fuck that, Akhil, come here this instant."

"Why should I?" I retorted, feeling a surge of bitterness. "He isn't related to me."

"Our mom needs us."

"Yeah, if that were true, she would've never married another."

"The fuck are you talking about? She was young when our father died and she needed a companion."

"I won't come." With that, I ended the call.

I packed my bag and went to Bangalore. I only returned after 16 days, after all the ceremonies were finished.

One day, Sreejith visited me. I came home from my design class, and there he was, standing in front of my PG home. He started to raise his voice, but I didn't react. Instead, I took the key from under the mat and opened the door. Suddenly, he shoved me from behind, catching me off guard. I cursed at him with some choice words, telling him he was a pimp for agreeing to stand with mother for her second marriage. In response, he socked me hard on the jaw, and I instinctively returned the blow.

He locked me with his muscled forearm, his strength overpowering me. He was somewhat bigger than me, being a gym trainer with a strong build. I struggled to breathe as he exerted pressure. In desperation, I began squirming and making noises until he finally let go. We both ended up on the floor, exhausted and breathless. Sitting with my back against the bed's side, I took in deep breaths of air, trying to calm myself.

When Sreejith attempted to console me, I snapped, telling him to leave and never come back. From that moment on, I distanced myself from my brothers and mother. My father's death when I was ten marked a pivotal moment in my life. Despite my vague memories of him, I cherished the bond I shared with my mother during my early years. I would snuggle into her embrace as I slept, finding solace in her gentle touch as she brushed my hair. Those were the golden days of my childhood, cocooned under the protective wings of my mother.

But everything changed after my father's passing. Though he was a tailor by profession, he had a keen business sense, accumulating a substantial sum of money that he wisely invested. His financial foresight ensured there was no shortage of funds even after he was gone.It was believed by some that those who owed him money laid curses upon him, attributing his demise to their unresolved debts. But I couldn't reconcile these claims with the compassionate man I remembered. To my recollection, he extended financial assistance to many, albeit with interest, but I couldn't fathom him capable of wrongdoing. He died of scirosiis, he drank heavily. I mean, if he wasn't a drunk. we would even be rich.

He spent much of his time in the hospital, which meant I didn't have many moments with him. During those days, my mother's parents would stay at home to take care of me while she was at the hospital. It was during this period that I formed a special bond with my grandfather. I adored him. He would take me to watch the trains passing by, a simple yet magical experience for a young child. Holding onto his hand tightly, I would gaze in awe as the massive vehicles thundered past, their power and speed captivating my imagination. Those moments with my grandfather were some of the fondest memories of my childhood, etched deeply in my heart.

Amidst the clamor of voices and the chaos of the scene, I found myself disoriented. Jithin was engaged in a heated exchange with someone, their voices rising in urgency. It took a moment for me to register my surroundings—I was standing in the middle of the road, a red car looming ahead, its driver undoubtedly frustrated by the disruption.

Suddenly, it all came flooding back—I had been lost in my thoughts, oblivious to the world around me. My distraction had caused a commotion, with Jithin now attempting to diffuse the situation. It was then that I noticed a man, clearly agitated, gesturing wildly. He had attempted to stop the vehicle to avoid a collision, his actions driven by concern for my safety. But instead of gratitude, his efforts had seemingly fueled his anger, exacerbated by the inconvenience caused by my absent-mindedness.

Jithin's voice broke through the turmoil as he attempted to soothe the situation, calming the irate man and turning his attention towards me. "Are you okay? What were you thinking?" he asked with genuine concern. But I remained silent, my thoughts a tumultuous storm raging within me. Without a word, I continued walking, with Jithin faithfully trailing behind.

In the midst of our silent procession, Jithin's phone rang, the sound piercing through the tense atmosphere. It was Chechi, bearing news of Hari's return home. My heart sank at the thought of facing him, the weight of unresolved emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "I don't want to face him right now," I confessed to Jithin, my voice barely above a whisper. In response, Jithin offered reassurance, his words a comforting anchor amidst the storm of my emotions. "It's alright," he said, his tone imbued with understanding and support.

As Jithin and I walked back, the sight of a fresh casualty, a cat lying lifeless by the side of the road, served as a stark reminder of mortality. Its blood staining the pavement, its brain spilled from its skull—a gruesome testament to the fragility of life. "Death is following me all around," I couldn't help but think to myself.

Upon reaching home, Hari awaited us on the steps leading to the entrance. His presence froze me in place. As he approached, he said nothing, simply enveloping me in a tight embrace. We entered the house together, greeted by Chechi. Settling onto the sofa, we found a moment of respite from the outside world, the rest of the visitors lingering outside.

"So, finally the prodigal son returns," Hari remarked with a chuckle.

I remained silent, unsure of what to say. Seeing him after all these years felt strange, despite our recent phone conversations.

"I'm sorry for being angry at you," Hari offered apologetically.

I nodded in acknowledgment.

"Do you know why he did it?" I asked Hari, my voice tinged with desperation. He didn't answer immediately. When I pressed him again, frustration boiled over, and I erupted. "Do you have any idea why our brother hanged himself?" I shouted, the words tearing from my throat. The sudden outburst drew the attention of the crowd outside, who rushed in to witness the spectacle.

Turning to face them, I unleashed my pent-up anguish. "Why the hell are you all here?" I yelled. "Is this some sort of entertainment for you? A circus? Our brother is dead, there's no more drama to feed on! Or maybe you want to know why he did it, right? I'll tell you why—he was a coward! Now get the hell out of here!"

My words sent the crowd scattering, some retreating to their homes the moment I began shouting.