Chapter: 10 From Shadows to Light
Amir’s life became a haunting echo of silence. Days turned into weeks, yet the weight of Mahira’s absence lingered, refusing to fade. He hadn’t spoken a single word since that night—the night he learned she was gone.
He had been shifted to a small room in a government colony, a place that seemed to mirror his own hollow existence. The room was stark, stripped of warmth or character, with peeling paint and a solitary chair that creaked under his weight. A dim bulb hung overhead, casting a pale, lifeless glow, illuminating the emptiness of his surroundings.
Amir moved through the days like a ghost. His once-sharp eyes, now dulled and sunken, rarely lifted from the ground. His beard grew unruly, his clothes hung loose on his frame, and the lines on his face deepened, as though etched by sorrow itself.
He rarely ventured outside, and when he did, it was aimless. He would wander through the streets, his footsteps heavy and unsteady, as though the earth itself resisted his presence. The bustling noises of life around him—the chatter of children, the honking of vehicles, the distant hum of humanity—seemed muted, distant, like a foreign language he no longer understood.
Everywhere he looked, he felt the weight of absence. He saw Mahira in the corners of his vision, heard her laughter in the whispers of the wind, felt her presence in the shadows. Yet, when he turned, she was never there.
At night, the silence was deafening. The tiny fan overhead spun in a monotonous rhythm, failing to drown out the voices in his mind. He would sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall until dawn, unable to sleep. His thoughts were a prison, replaying the moment he last saw her, the moment she pushed him to run, the moment he realized she wouldn’t follow.
The guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.
"Why her?"
"Why did she stay?"
"Why couldn’t it have been me?"
He whispered these questions to the void, knowing there would be no answers.
Food became an afterthought. Most days, he subsisted on scraps—half a piece of bread, a sip of water—just enough to keep his body functioning, though his spirit was far beyond repair. The locals noticed him, a man wandering like a broken shadow, but they kept their distance. There was something about his presence—a quiet despair—that unnerved them.
Amir spoke to no one. No one spoke to him.
His solitude was complete.
Even the government officers who had brought him to this place stopped visiting. Whatever purpose they had once assigned to him seemed forgotten, just like him.
In his darkest moments, Amir would sit by the single window in his room, staring at the endless horizon, wondering if he even existed anymore. The sun would rise and fall, days blending into nights, and he would remain, motionless, a relic of a man who had lost everything.
Sometimes, he thought of Mahira’s final words, her love for him, her sacrifice. They were both a comfort and a torment.
Her voice was a ghost, lingering in the stillness, keeping him tethered to a life he no longer wanted.
Amir was a man undone, living a life without purpose, a shadow without light, a soul without hope.
The morning was unusually quiet, even by the grim standards Amir had grown accustomed to. He sat slumped in a corner of the room, staring blankly at the floor. His thoughts, like an unending storm, churned and twisted, dragging him deeper into the void of his despair. The faint knocking at the door barely registered at first—just another sound drowned out by the chaos in his mind.
The knocks grew louder, more persistent, until they finally broke through the fog of his thoughts. Startled, Amir blinked and looked toward the door. For a moment, he remained frozen, unsure if the sound was real or just another figment of his restless imagination.
The knocking came again, sharper this time. Slowly, Amir rose to his feet, his movements stiff and lethargic. The air in the room was thick with the stench of neglect—of unwashed clothes, stale liquor, and despair.
When he opened the door, he did so hesitantly, as if bracing for an unwanted confrontation. The man who stood on the other side was young, clean-shaven, and dressed neatly in his officer's uniform. His presence was jarring against the backdrop of Amir’s disheveled state.
The officer’s nose wrinkled involuntarily at the smell emanating from Amir. His hair was matted, his beard unkempt, and his eyes hollow, rimmed with dark circles. The tattered shirt he wore hung loosely on his gaunt frame, stained and reeking of sweat and alcohol.
“Hi, Amar,” the officer began with forced politeness, though the sight before him clearly unsettled him. “This is Sanchay Gupta.”
Amir’s voice, hoarse and broken, rasped in reply. “What do you want?”
Sanchay hesitated for a moment, taken aback by Amir’s appearance and tone. “Actually, one of our senior officers would like to meet you. If you could come with us—”
“I don’t want to meet anyone,” Amir interrupted sharply, his words cutting through the air like a blade.
“Please, sir,” Sanchay continued, trying to keep his composure. “If you could just spare a little time—”
Before Sanchay could finish, Amir slammed the door shut in his face with a resounding thud.
On the other side of the door, Amir leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. His hands trembled as he muttered to himself, “Meet me? Why can’t they just leave me alone? Why can’t anyone let me live in peace?”
Sanchay stood outside for a few moments, stunned by the encounter. He knocked again, his fist striking the door with urgency.
“Amar, please—just a few minutes of your time,” he called out.
But there was no response. Inside, Amir had retreated to his bedroom, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. His mind swirled with anger and frustration, his thoughts once again returning to the torment that consumed him daily.
Sanchay lingered for a while longer, unsure of what to do. The silence from inside the room was deafening, and it was clear Amir had no intention of opening the door again.
With a heavy sigh, Sanchay walked away, his boots echoing down the hallway. As he left, his mind was filled with questions. What had happened to this man? What kind of pain had reduced him to this state?
When he returned to the officer’s quarters, Sanchay reported Amir’s condition and unwillingness to cooperate. His description of Amir’s depression and broken state was met with somber nods. The senior officers exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
Amir, meanwhile, sat alone in his darkened room, the officer’s visit already fading into the background noise of his despair.
The following day, the door rattled with a familiar knock, breaking the oppressive silence that hung in the room. At first, Amir ignored it, thinking it would go away, but the knocking persisted—relentless, demanding.
With a deep sigh, Amir shuffled to the door, his feet dragging on the worn floorboards. His hand lingered on the handle for a moment before he opened it, already scowling.
Standing there once again was Sanchay Gupta, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination.
Amir’s irritation boiled over. “Are you nuts? Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone? You—”
Before Amir could finish his sentence, Sanchay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and interrupted hurriedly.
“Sir, sir, please! My senior is here to meet you. Just hear us out.”
Amir was about to slam the door again when a figure stepped forward from behind Sanchay. The sight stopped him cold.
The figure was tall, composed, and carried an air of authority that was hard to ignore. His face, though unfamiliar at first, bore an undeniable weight of recognition.
Amir blinked, disbelief etched on his face. “Faizan...?”
The man smiled faintly, shaking his head. “No, Amir. My name is Avneet Saini. ‘Faizan’ was a code name I used during the mission.”
Amir’s eyes widened in shock, his mind racing to piece together the revelation. He stepped back instinctively, his hand gripping the doorframe for support.
“You... You were Faizan all along?” Amir stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Avneet confirmed calmly.
For a moment, Amir was silent, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and curiosity. Then, almost as if on autopilot, he stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.
“Come in,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with reluctant curiosity.
As Avneet and Sanchay entered the house, the stale, oppressive atmosphere seemed to intensify. The living room was sparse and unkempt, a testament to Amir’s deteriorating state. Papers and empty bottles were scattered across the table, and the air was thick with neglect.
Avneet glanced around briefly but said nothing about the state of the house. Instead, he turned to Amir, his expression unreadable.
“We need to talk,” Avneet said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of something monumental.
Amir sat down heavily on a chair, his hands resting on his knees. “Then talk,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on Avneet.
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable.
Avneet sat down across from Amir, the creaky chair groaning under his weight. His posture was calm, but his eyes scanned Amir’s haggard face, unkempt beard, and hollowed eyes. He exhaled, breaking the silence with a tone both soft and direct.
“Your situation… it’s not so well, Amir,” Avneet began, his voice careful, as if afraid to provoke a fragile structure teetering on the brink of collapse.
Amir leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. “You think I don’t know that?” he shot back, his voice raw and bitter. “You come here after everything, telling me my life is a mess. What do you even want, Avneet?”
Avneet held his gaze steady. “I’m not here to judge you, Amir. I’m here to talk—to help you find a way out of this.”
Amir let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Out of what? This? There’s no way out, Avneet. I’ve lost everything. Everyone.”
Avneet leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You haven’t lost everything, Amir. You’re still alive. And as long as you’re alive, you have a chance to rebuild.”
Amir’s eyes burned with anger. “Rebuild what? My life? My sanity? Do you even understand what I’ve been through? What I’ve seen? What I’ve done?”
“Yes, Amir,” Avneet said firmly. “I understand more than you think. You’re not the only one who’s had to make impossible choices. You’re not the only one carrying the weight of those choices. But you can’t let them bury you.”
Amir’s voice softened, though it was still edged with pain. “You weren’t there when Mahira… when she…” He stopped, choking on the words.
Avneet nodded slowly. “I know about Mahira. I know what she meant to you. And I know what her loss has done to you. But do you think she would want this for you? Do you think she sacrificed herself so you could waste away in this house, drowning in grief?”
Amir’s hands trembled, his fists clenching and unclenching as he wrestled with his emotions. “Don’t talk about her like you knew her,” he muttered.
“I didn’t know her like you did,” Avneet admitted. “But I knew what she fought for. She believed in something greater than herself. She believed in you, Amir.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. Amir stared at the table, his mind replaying the moments he’d tried so hard to bury.
“Why are you really here, Avneet?” Amir asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Avneet straightened, his tone growing more serious. “I’m here because I see potential in you, Amir. You’ve been through hell, yes. But you’re still here. That means something. And there are people who believe you can still make a difference.”
Amir scoffed. “A difference? Look at me. I’m a shell of a man. I can’t even make sense of my own life, let alone help anyone else.”
Avneet’s expression hardened. “That’s where you’re wrong. The world hasn’t stopped turning just because you stepped away from it. There’s still a fight out there, Amir. A fight for justice, for change. And whether you realize it or not, you’re part of it.”
Amir shook his head, his eyes filled with doubt. “I don’t know if I have anything left to give, Avneet.”
“You do,” Avneet said, his voice unwavering. “But it starts with you standing up. It starts with you deciding that Mahira’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. It starts with you believing that you still have a purpose.”
The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Amir like a heavy blanket. He rubbed his face, his fingers dragging over his weary features.
“Why me?” he asked finally. “Why not someone else?”
Avneet smiled faintly. “because deep down, you know you’re not done yet.”
Amir looked at Avneet, his expression a mixture of skepticism and something else—a flicker of hope, buried but not extinguished.
“what do you want,” he admitted.
Avneet: “Right now, I want you to come with me.”
Amir looked at him warily, slumping further into his chair. “Where?”
Avneet’s tone was calm, almost casual. “The temple.”
Amir froze for a moment before laughing bitterly. “Temple? Seriously? Just because my mom named me Amar, you think you can drag me to a temple? For your information, I’m not religious. I don’t care for gods, rituals, or any of those myths. Save it.”
Avneet didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral. “It’s not about religion, Amir. I’m not asking you to go worship or believe in anything. This is about something else.”
Amir raised an eyebrow, his skepticism sharp. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”
Avneet leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “Your family.”
That word landed like a punch to Amir’s gut. His eyes narrowed, his defenses immediately spiking. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a family.”
Avneet smiled faintly, his patience unwavering. “You do, Amir. Your nana—your maternal grandfather—he’s alive. And he works at a temple. I think meeting him might… I don’t know, give you a reason to start living again.”
Amir’s mind reeled, his thoughts spiraling in a chaotic whirl. The revelation stunned him into silence for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “You’re telling me my grandfather is alive? After all these years?”
Avneet nodded. “Yes. And he’s been waiting for you, Amir. He doesn’t know everything you’ve been through, but he knows you’re out there. I think it’s time you met him.”
Amir sat back, his expression torn between disbelief and a flicker of longing. “Why are you doing this, Avneet? What’s in it for you?”
Avneet’s gaze softened. “I’ve seen what you’ve become, Amir. And I know what you’re capable of being. I’m not doing this for me—I’m doing it because you deserve a chance at something better. Meeting your grandfather could be the first step.”
Amir swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to feel anything.”
Avneet’s face lit up with quiet satisfaction. “Fair enough. But there’s one condition.”
Amir frowned. “Condition? What now?”
Avneet gestured at him with a slight smirk. “Not like this. You need a proper wash, Amir. No offense, but you look and smell like someone who’s been living in a dumpster.”
Amir rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a faint smirk of his own. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
Avneet chuckled, standing up and offering his hand. “Maybe. But I’m also right. Come on, Amir. Let’s start fixing things—one step at a time.”
Amir hesitated for a moment before grasping Avneet’s hand and standing up. As he caught a glimpse of himself in a cracked mirror nearby, he realized how far he’d fallen. Maybe, just maybe, Avneet was right.
“Alright,” Amir said, exhaling deeply. “Let’s get this over with.”
Amar and Avneet arrived at the Shiva temple in the quiet of the afternoon. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, and the rhythmic ringing of temple bells resonated in the distance. Avneet stepped inside confidently, but Amar hesitated at the doorstep, rooted to the spot.
The towering deity inside seemed to peer into his soul, awakening a deep-seated unease. His breaths quickened, and for a moment, it felt as though he couldn’t move. The sounds of the temple—the bells, the chants, the murmurs of devotees—grew louder, disorienting him.
Suddenly, he felt a gentle but firm grip on his hand. Startled, he turned to see an old lady, her face lined with age but radiating a serene kindness.
“Beta,” she said softly, “will you help me up the stairs? My knees are not what they used to be.”
Amar blinked, his initial instinct to decline fading as he saw her frail frame. Without a word, he nodded, offering his arm for support. As they climbed the stairs together, her steadying presence seemed to anchor him, the trembling in his hands subsiding.
“You’ve brought me this far,” she said with a smile, “now take the final steps. Together.”
Before he realized it, Amar had crossed the threshold into the temple, the old lady beside him. Her presence was comforting, as though she understood the weight he carried without him having to say a word.
Inside, a little girl came running toward them, her laughter a light contrast to the solemnity of the temple.
“Hari Om, uncle! Hari Om, Dadi!” she chirped, her hands pressed together in a playful namaste.
“Hari Om, beta,” the old lady replied, her voice warm. She reached into her bag and handed the girl a small chocolate.
The girl’s face lit up for a moment, then turned thoughtful. “Dadi, you didn’t bring a 5 Star like you promised,” she said with a hint of disappointment.
The old lady chuckled, patting her cheek gently. “I only had Eclairs with me, beta. I’ll bring your 5 Star tomorrow, okay?”
The girl’s frown disappeared as quickly as it had come. “It’s okay, Dadi. Eclairs is yummy too. But don’t forget tomorrow!”
“Certainly, my sweet girl,” the old lady said, smiling as the child skipped away happily.
Amar, who had been watching the exchange in silence, found himself strangely drawn to the simplicity of the moment. The old lady turned to him, her smile now tinged with wisdom.
“Sweet child,” she said, almost to herself. “She’s more mature than most adults I know.”
Amar raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Mature? She’s just a little girl.”
“Yes, mature,” the old lady replied. “She hoped for a 5 Star but received an Eclairs. Instead of crying over what she didn’t get, she chose to enjoy what she had. That’s maturity—accepting life’s little joys rather than being stuck in a loop of disappointment.”
Amar’s gaze softened as her words began to sink in. She continued, her voice low and soothing, like the calm after a storm.
“Beta, too many of us lose the sweetness of Eclairs because we’re endlessly chasing the 5 Star. We overthink, we hold onto what we don’t have, and in doing so, we miss what’s right in front of us.”
Amar looked down at his hands, the weight of his own thoughts pressing on him. Her words felt like they were meant for him, striking a chord he hadn’t touched in years.
“You’ve been carrying something heavy,” she said gently, her eyes studying his. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. The world doesn’t promise us 5 Stars, but if you’re willing to look, it always offers something sweet.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Amar felt a lump rise in his throat—not of despair, but of a strange, bittersweet understanding.
The old lady smiled knowingly, her work seemingly done. “Now, shall we go offer our prayers? Or are you still hesitant?”
Amar straightened his back, inhaling deeply. stepping further into the temple. “I think I’m ready.”
She patted his arm, her touch as light as a whisper. “Good. You’ll find what you’re looking for, beta. Just don’t forget the Eclairs along the way.”
The old lady paused just before they reached the inner sanctum of the temple, her sharp eyes studying Amar’s face intently. She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“There is something missing,” she said softly, as though speaking to herself.
Amar blinked, confused. “Missing? What do you mean?”
Without answering, she reached into the folds of her saree and pulled out a small silver box. Opening it revealed a rich red vermilion powder. With practiced hands, she dipped her finger into it and gently applied a tilak to Amar’s forehead.
Amar flinched slightly at her touch but didn’t pull away.
“There,” she said, stepping back and admiring her work. “Now, you’re complete.”
Amar’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, his fingers brushing the fresh mark. It was warm, almost grounding, as though the weight of the world on his shoulders had shifted ever so slightly.
“What’s this for? I am not religious. I am sorry but i don’t believe in this” he asked, his voice low.
The old lady smiled, her gaze filled with wisdom and something deeper. “This isn’t just a mark, beta. It’s a blessing, a reminder. You’ve walked through fire, through darkness, and you’re still standing. This tilak is a symbol that you’re not lost. You are here, in this moment.”
Amar stared at her, the words hitting him like a soft yet unyielding wave. He didn’t know why, but he felt a lump forming in his throat again.
“You may not believe in gods or rituals,” she continued, her tone kind but firm, “but symbols have power. Sometimes, we need something simple—like this tilak—to remind us of the strength we’ve forgotten we have.”
Amar swallowed hard, his hand falling away from his forehead. “I don’t know if I have that strength anymore,” he admitted, his voice cracking.
The old lady placed her hand on his shoulder, her grip surprisingly steady for someone her age. “Oh, but you do. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you didn’t. And if you ever doubt it again, just remember this mark. It’s not just a tilak—it’s a sign that even when you feel broken, you are still whole.”
Amar felt a strange calm wash over him, the chaos in his mind quieting just a little. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
As the temple bells echoed through the air, a voice broke through the ambient hum—a deep, emotional tone filled with love and longing.
“Amar…”
Amar turned toward the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. At the entrance to the inner sanctum, he saw an old man leaning on Avneet for support. His frail hands trembled, yet his gaze held an intensity that cut through Amar like a blade.
“Beta…” the man’s voice cracked with emotion, and tears welled up in his eyes as he took a hesitant step forward.
Amar felt his throat tighten, the sight before him overwhelming. His vision blurred with tears as the old man closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, the man cupped Amar’s face with trembling hands, his touch soft yet weighted with decades of unspoken love.
“Just like your mother…” the old man whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a lifetime of memories. He ran his hand gently across Amar’s cheek, his fingers brushing away a tear that had escaped.
The old man’s face lighting up with both sorrow and joy. “I am your nana,” he said, his words carrying the weight of revelation. “And because of the blessings of the Lord, I am fortunate enough to see my grandson—my son—standing before me.”
Before Amar could react, his grandfather clasped his hand tightly and led him toward the sacred Shivlinga at the center of the temple. Amar followed, his steps hesitant but steady, drawn by the sheer gravity of the moment.
“Come,” the old man said, his voice steadier now, as though the act of being near Amar had given him renewed strength. “Let us thank Him. Let us give thanks for this reunion.”
Amar felt a strange mix of confusion and enlightenment as they approached the Shivlinga. The air around them seemed to hum with an unseen energy. The old man folded his hands in prayer, his eyes closed, murmuring words of gratitude.
Amar stood there, his gaze fixed on the Shivlinga, his mind racing. He didn’t believe in gods, rituals, or destiny. And yet, here he was, standing beside the only family he had left, feeling a sense of connection he hadn’t known in years.
His grandfather’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Amar,” he said, turning to look at him with tearful eyes. “You carry the light of your mother in you. She was my hope, and now you are.”
Amar couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think of what to say. He simply nodded, his eyes locked on the fragile yet resilient man beside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something stir in his heart—something he hadn’t felt since Mahira’s sacrifice.
Hope.
The soft light of the afternoon sun streamed through the open windows of the temple’s rest room, casting golden hues on the simple wooden table where Amar sat. His eyes were fixed on the plate of food in front of him—plain roti, dal, and a small bowl of yogurt. It had been days since he had eaten a proper meal, and the warmth of the food filled his chest with an odd sense of comfort.
Across the table, his nana sat watching him, his weathered face soft with quiet observation. He had brought the food himself, carefully arranging it with a tenderness that Amar hadn’t experienced in years.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence felt heavy but not uncomfortable, as if words would disrupt the fragile connection they were beginning to rebuild.
His nana smiled faintly, folding his hands in his lap. “I can see you are lost son”
Amar: “You know the story? What happened to me? What happened to mom?”
Nana observerd and said “Yes i know and i can also see a man lost in the storm of life, searching for the shore but afraid to hope for it.”
Amar paused mid-bite, the words striking a chord deep within him. He placed the roti back on the plate and looked up. “I don’t know how to hope anymore,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Everyone I care about…they’re gone. What’s left for me?”
“You remind me of someone,” his nana said softly, breaking the silence.
Amar looked up, puzzled. “Who?”
“Lord Ram,” his nana said, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Amar blinked, taken aback. “Ram? The god?”
His nana chuckled. “Yes, but not the god you think of in idols or stories. I mean the man—Ram, the prince, the husband, the brother. A man who, at one point in his life, was as lost as you are now.”
Amar leaned back in his chair, his interest reluctantly piqued. “Ram was never lost. He’s a god; he always knew what to do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” his nana said, his tone kind but firm. “Do you remember the part of his journey when Sita was taken by Ravan? Ram wandered the forests with Lakshman, desperately searching for her. He was heartbroken, consumed by doubt, anger, and sorrow. In those moments, Ram was not the god we revere. He was a man, lost in the storm of life, just like you.”
Amar’s throat tightened. “What did he do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
His nana leaned closer, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “He prayed. Not for revenge or power, but for clarity. He stood before the gods and asked for a way out of his despair. And do you know what happened?”
Amar shook his head.
“The universe answered,” his nana said. “Not with miracles or shortcuts, but with guidance—a path. Ram met Hanuman, Sugreev, and the others who helped him on his quest. He found strength within himself to rise, to fight, and to reclaim what he had lost. But it all started with one thing.”
“What?” Amar asked, his heart pounding.
“Faith,” his nana said simply. “Not in gods or fate, but in himself. He believed he was meant for more than his sorrow, and that belief became his strength.”
Amar looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not Ram. I’m just...me. And I’ve lost everything.”
His nana reached across the table and gently placed a hand on Amar’s shoulder. “So did he. But he didn’t let his loss define him. And neither should you.”
Amar’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t look away this time. “What if I fail?”
“Then you’ll try again,” his nana said firmly. “Because that’s what it means to live, Amar. To keep walking, even when the path is unclear. To trust that, like Ram, you will find your way.”
The words hung in the air, filling the room with a sense of quiet power. Amar sat there, his mind turning over the story and its meaning. For the first time in months, he felt something shift inside him—not a complete transformation, but a small, steady spark of hope.
His nana smiled, sensing the change. “Finish your meal, beta. You’ll need your strength. The path ahead won’t be easy, but I believe in you. You will succeed like your mom”
As Amar picked up the roti and began eating again, he couldn’t help but think of Ram, standing alone in the forest, praying for guidance. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so different after all. He finished meal.
Amar stood at the threshold of the temple rest room, the faint hum of the bells echoing in his ears. His gaze fell on Avneet, who was standing a few steps away, leaning against a pillar, his eyes scanning the horizon as though waiting for something. Or someone.
Amar took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his conversation with his nana settle into a steady resolve. For the first time in what felt like forever, the crushing despair in his chest had eased, replaced by a glimmer of purpose. He wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped out, the warm sunlight washing over him.
“Avneet,” Amar called, his voice steady but quiet.
Avneet turned, a hint of surprise on his face. “Amar?”
Amar walked up to him, his posture no longer slouched, his shoulders squared. He met Avneet’s eyes with a determination that had been missing for far too long. “I think I’m ready now.”
Avneet’s face softened into a genuine smile, one that held both relief and approval. “Glad to hear this,” he said, nodding. “Let’s go.”
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Amar glanced back at the temple, where his nana stood watching from the doorway, his expression a mix of pride and encouragement. Amar gave him a small nod, a silent promise that he would try to move forward.
Avneet gestured toward the path leading away from the temple. “We have a long road ahead, but you don’t have to walk it alone.”
Amar nodded, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “I know.”
And with that, they started walking, leaving behind the temple, the past, and the shadows that had once held Amar captive. Each step forward felt lighter, as though the burden on his shoulders was beginning to lift. Amar didn’t know exactly where the journey would take him, but for the first time, he was willing to find out.
