Chapter-1 I Guess My Life Was Pretty Fucked UP !!!

 " I guess my life was pretty fucked up hahahaha.... Finding YOU was like touching a star I knew I could never get to but I guess I still wanna try that hahahha.... "

I just laughed at myself my pathetic self while sitting in a chair and holding a lit cigarette in my right hand..

You people are wondering what is happening here and who am I right?

I am Dhruv. A 25 year old guy and this 25 year old guy is going to die now hahaha... 

The cold air bit into his skin, and each breath felt heavier than the last. Blood pooled around him, staining the earth dark red. The night sky, vast and indifferent, stretched above, dotted with distant stars. He could barely feel his hands now, his strength slipping away like sand through his fingers. But his mind wandered elsewhere, away from the pain, away from the battle.

"Grandma…"

His voice was barely a whisper, a fragile thread in the stillness.

"Remember when you used to sit by the window, knitting those scarves no one ever wore? You said they were for the winter that never came… or maybe it was just for the time we didn't have. I never understood then." His breath hitched, his chest tightening.

"You'd hum those old songs, the ones you said your mother taught you. I used to wonder if you made them up just to keep me from running off." He let out a weak, bitter chuckle, wincing at the sharp pain that followed.

"I used to think you were just… old. That the world had passed you by, and all you had left were memories. But now…" His eyes glazed over, the stars blurring into one another. "Now, I get it. The memories are what keep you going. Even when everything else falls apart."

He could almost see her, sitting in that worn-out chair by the window. The sun would cast a warm glow through the glass, illuminating the soft lines of her face. She'd look up at him, those kind, wise eyes searching his, as if she already knew everything he was going to say.

"I should have told you…" he murmured, his voice growing fainter. "I should have told you that I understood. That I finally saw what you meant, why you held on so tight to the past. Because… in the end… it's all we have left, isn't it?"

His vision was fading now, the world growing dim. But in the darkness, he could still see her—his grandmother—smiling at him from across the room, her hands busy with that endless knitting.

The night was eerily quiet, save for the rustle of wind through the trees. A thin fog rolled over the small village, the moon casting pale light on the cobblestone streets. He lay in the dirt at the edge of the forest, his body broken and battered, barely clinging to life. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke from distant chimneys, where families sat together in warmth—something he had never truly known.

He could hear the faint echo of laughter from the village square, a distant reminder of life moving on without him. The same square where he had once stood, small and forgotten, watching other children play while he lingered on the outskirts, alone. Always alone.

"Mom… Dad…" His voice was a strained whisper, lost in the cold night air. The memories clawed at him now, dragging him back to that day, back to the old wooden house at the edge of the village—the one with the creaking porch and peeling paint. The house where his life had unraveled.

"Why did you leave?" His words were heavy with years of unanswered questions. The night around him seemed to listen, but no answers came. They never had.

He remembered standing in the doorway, his small hand clutching his grandmother's dress, watching as his parents loaded up their worn-out car. They had smiled at him, told him it was only for a little while, that they'd be back before he knew it. But their smiles didn't reach their eyes. Even then, he had felt something was wrong. He just didn't know what.

"You promised you'd come back," he whispered, his breath catching in his throat. "You said I wouldn't even notice you were gone…" But he had noticed. Every day, he had noticed.

The house had grown so quiet after they left. The laughter and the warmth had disappeared with them, replaced by silence and the creak of old floorboards. His grandmother had tried—oh, how she had tried—to fill the void. She baked his favorite bread, told him stories by the fire, and hummed those old, familiar songs. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

"I waited…" His voice was trembling now, tears pooling in his eyes. "I waited for so long, but you never came back." He could see them so clearly—his parents driving away, disappearing down the narrow dirt road that led out of the village. He had stood at the window, his breath fogging up the glass, watching until they were gone. He had screamed for them, but the car never stopped, never turned around.

"I was just a kid…" he sobbed, his voice barely a whisper against the night. "I didn't understand. I didn't know why you left me. Was I not enough? Was I… too much?" His tears fell freely now, mingling with the dirt beneath him.

In the distance, the faint sound of a bell echoed through the village, signaling the late hour. The streets would be empty soon, the villagers retreating to their homes, to the warmth of their hearths and the comfort of their families. But he had never had that comfort. Not really.

"You didn't come back…" he cried, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. "You just left me there… alone. With nothing but questions."

His grandmother had done her best. She had tried to be everything he needed, but she couldn't fill the hole they had left behind. No one could. He had grown up in that village, surrounded by people who pitied him, but no one had ever really understood. No one had known how much it hurt to wait, day after day, for parents who would never return.

"I never stopped waiting…" he whispered through his tears, his voice cracking. "Even when I knew… I knew you were never coming back, I couldn't stop waiting. I just wanted… I just wanted you to come back."

The night seemed to close in around him, the fog thickening, the cold seeping into his bones. His breath was growing weaker now, his vision blurring. But in his mind, he was still that little boy, standing at the window, waiting for his parents to come home.

"Why did you leave me? Why didn't you love me enough to stay?"

The question lingered in the stillness of the village night, unanswered,

"If I ask about staying with me. Who even did stay for me at my worst ???"

"Shivaay…" The name escaped his lips before he even realized it, a name he hadn't spoken in so long that it felt strange on his tongue. But the moment he said it, a memory surged forward, vivid and bright in the darkness of his mind.

He was young again—no more than thirteen—standing in the middle of a sunlit field. The wind tousled his hair, and he could hear the distant hum of cicadas. And there, just ahead of him, was Shivaay, tall and strong, his back turned as he worked on fixing the old fence that always seemed to need mending.

"Hey, kid!" Shivaay's voice was deep, warm, full of life. He turned around, a grin on his face, the kind of grin that always made him feel safe, like everything was going to be okay as long as Shivaay was around.

"Why are you just standing there? You gonna help, or are you planning to stare at me all day?" Shivaay chuckled, tossing a worn-out hammer in his direction. He caught it awkwardly, almost dropping it, and they both laughed.

He could feel the warmth of that day, the way the sun had kissed his skin, the way Shivaay had ruffled his hair after they finished, calling him "little brother" in that teasing tone of his. Shivaay had been more than a friend—he had been family when there was no one else. He had taught him how to fight, how to survive, how to stand tall even when the world seemed intent on knocking him down.

"I never thanked you…" he whispered, his voice trembling as the memory lingered just out of reach, fading like the light. "I never told you… how much you meant to me."

He could almost see Shivaay now, standing over him with that same smile, arms crossed, shaking his head as if to say, "You didn't have to, kid." But that only made the ache in his chest worse.

"You were always there… even when I didn't deserve it. You… you were the one who kept me going when I thought I couldn't." His eyes filled with tears, the words choking in his throat as the darkness crept closer. "I don't know if you can hear me, but… I miss you, Shivaay. I wish… I wish I could see you again. Just… one more time."

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a fleeting scent of the wildflowers that used to grow near the old fence. He could almost hear Shivaay's laugh, feel his reassuring presence beside him, as though he had never left.

"I'm not afraid, Shivaay," he murmured, his voice barely a breath. "Not anymore. I'll… I'll see you soon, brother…"

And with that final thought, with Shivaay's name on his lips, the pain eased away, replaced by a warmth that wrapped around him like an old, familiar embrace. The world faded completely, but he wasn't alone. Not anymore. And with it, the years of waiting, the pain, and the tears—all of it finally faded into the silence of the fog-covered streets. 

The night was quiet, the world around him still, as if the universe itself held its breath. The stars above glittered like diamonds scattered across a velvet sky, their light gentle and distant. He could feel the earth beneath him, cool and solid, grounding him in his final moments. His body was heavy, each breath more labored than the last, but his mind was calm—calmer than it had been in years.

A soft breeze rustled through the nearby trees, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and distant rain. The air was crisp, refreshing against his skin, a quiet reminder that he was still alive, at least for a little longer. But he knew the end was near. He could feel it in the way the world seemed to blur at the edges, in the way the pain had begun to fade into something quieter, almost peaceful.

"Is this what it feels like?" he whispered to no one, his voice a fragile echo in the night. He had always wondered what his final moments would be like—if they would be filled with fear, regret, or maybe even relief. But now, as he lay there beneath the vast sky, all he felt was a gentle sense of acceptance.

His thoughts drifted, not to the battles he had fought or the people he had lost, but to something simpler. He remembered the feel of the sun on his face, the sound of birds singing in the early morning, the way the wind would carry the scent of flowers in the springtime. He remembered laughter—soft, quiet moments of joy that seemed so small at the time but now felt monumental in their simplicity.

"I wish… I could see it all again," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as his mind conjured images of those peaceful days. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face again, hear the soft murmur of the world waking up around him. It was so close, just out of reach, but it was enough. It was enough to know that it had existed, that he had lived those moments, however fleeting they may have been.

The darkness around him deepened, but it wasn't frightening. It was like a warm blanket being pulled over him, comforting in its embrace. His breath grew fainter, his heart slowing, but there was no fear. Only peace.

"Maybe… this is how it's supposed to be," he thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe… it's not about what we leave behind, but about what we take with us." And he would take those memories with him—the warmth, the laughter, the beauty of a world that had, at times, been so cruel, but had also shown him moments of profound grace.

His final breath came softly, like a whisper in the night, as the last remnants of pain melted away. The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, as if they were welcoming him home. And in that quiet, peaceful moment, he let go.

The world continued on, unchanged by his passing. The wind still whispered through the trees, the stars still glittered in the sky. But for him, everything was still, calm, and finally… I was at peace I guess.