THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS

15th September 2022, Dehradun, India, Kali Yuga

The weather is tranquil. A gentle breeze is blowing, matching its rhythm with the flowing of stream miles beneath the valley. The shy sun rays are just reaching the lush green surface, and the air is filled with the melodious chirping of birds.

As opposed to this lovely morning, a storm of melancholy and self-loathing is looming inside Ahyan's heart who's standing on the balcony of his favourite place in the world after his home, a cabin on the hilly outskirts of Dehradun. His mind is replaying what had happened 2 days ago like a movie, torturing him with pain.

Flashback

"We can't be together anymore, Ahyan. My parents are searching for a bride for me and I think that's for the best. I hope you understand," said Revanth, his boyfriend, in a sombre voice.

It felt as if his entire world had turned upside down. He just can't process what's happening. Although he wanted to scream and cry why he was doing this to him, no words left his mouth. All he could do was dumbly nod as he felt his heart breaking and his body becoming numb.

He registered his boyfriend, sorry ex-boyfriend hugging and apologising to him. His nostrils filled with clove and musk scent, which he will smell for the last time. He heard him leaving their, no, now, his apartment. He didn't dare to look back, because he knew he will break down if he did so. His apartment, filled with the memories they made together, suffocated him. He can't stay in there anymore. He packed his bags and left for his favourite place, Dehradun.

Back to present

The shrill ringing of his phone reeled him into the present. It was his mom. The only person along with his dad who treated him like a normal human. Who he shared his first crush with. Who was there with during his first heartbreak. Who he simped on celeb crushes with. His rock, his bff and everything.

"Hello, Amma," he said, his voice cracking. "What happened, bangaram?", she asked in a worried voice only a mom could have. That's it. The dam broke.

"A-Amma, he-he, Revanth, broke up with me. His parents were looking for matches, a-and he thought it was for the best if we stopped being together. Why wasn't I enough, Amma? What wrong did I do? Is it my fault I was born this way? Tell me, Amma!" he asked, sobbing.

"No, bangaram! Never ever think like that! He was lucky you loved him and it's his bad luck that he lost it. One day, there'll be a person who'll treasure you more than their own life," said Bhuvana, trying to soothe her son's broken heart.

"Do you want to come home, chinnu? I'll make your favourite, chicken biryani and you can play tennis with your dad," she asked, although she knew her son wants some alone time and was in Dehradun.

"No, Amma. I want to be alone for a while and then I'll come home," he said, feeling better for the first time since that disastrous night.

"I love you, amma and tell nanna I love him too," he said with a smile. "Love you too, bangaram! Eat well and take care of yourself," she said.

"Bye amma!" he ended the call chuckling. No matter how old he gets, he's still a kid to his mom.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think this would be the last time he'd talk to his mom.

Leaning forward on the railings, he saw a unique butterfly flying around, far from where he stood. Being the artist he is, he took out the small sketch pad and colour pencils he had lying around and started drawing it. In order to get a better look, he leaned further forward, bending over the edges. The railings were old. They couldn't support his weight and collapsed, making him plummet down into the deep valley miles below.

"This is the end. I, Ahyan Reddy, a 24-year-old, am dying because I wanted to draw a stupid butterfly," he thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry amma, I can't come home to eat chicken biryani. I'm sorry nanna, I can't play tennis with you anymore", he apologised in his heart while silently crying. His parents' faces were the last thing he saw as he closed his eyes and felt the icy embrace of the river and he lost consciousness.