summer time sadness

The hospital air was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft hum of medical machines and the faint whispers of people exchanging words of comfort. Ankit sat motionless on the cold metal bench in the waiting area, his mind replaying the last moments he had seen his brother Daksh alive. The tiger's roar, the desperate struggle, and the sight of Daksh collapsing to the ground—it was all too vivid.

A doctor approached, his face grim and his footsteps hesitant. He stopped in front of Manohar, who stood with his hands tightly clenched, as if trying to hold onto hope.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said softly. "We did everything we could, but Daksh is no more."

The room erupted into cries. Manohar fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Richa clung to his arm, sobbing uncontrollably. Ankit, however, remained still, his face devoid of emotion. Inside, a storm raged, but he couldn't bring himself to cry.

Manohar's grief quickly turned into anger. He rose to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at Ankit. "If you had fought alongside him, your brother would still be alive today!" he shouted.

Richa, wiping her tears, looked at Ankit with eyes full of hatred. "You ran away! You left him to die! You're a murderer!"

Ankit opened his mouth to speak but found no words. He wanted to explain, to tell them that Daksh had told him to protect Richa and the others. But their grief was too raw, and their anger too blinding.

A House of Mourning

The days following Daksh's death were filled with sorrow. Relatives and friends visited the house, offering their condolences. The once-lively home was now quiet, its walls echoing with the cries of mourning.

Richa had stopped speaking to Ankit altogether. She avoided him, her eyes filled with disdain whenever they met his. Manohar, too, spoke to his son only when necessary, and even then, his tone was cold and distant.

Ankit spent his days in silence, taking care of the household chores and ensuring his father had everything he needed. Despite the hostility, he never missed an opportunity to help his family. At night, he would retreat to his room, staring at the ceiling and replaying the events in his mind.

Manohar's health began to deteriorate. The constant grief and stress took a toll on his body, and he became bedridden. A doctor was called, who diagnosed him with severe mental stress and advised complete rest.

Though Manohar barely spoke to Ankit, it was Ankit who took care of him. He prepared his meals, ensured he took his medication, and stayed by his side during sleepless nights. Despite his father's resentment, Ankit remained dutiful.

Another Loss

Three months later, Manohar's condition worsened. One morning, Ankit entered his father's room to find him unresponsive. The doctor was called, but it was too late—Manohar had passed away in his sleep.

The house was once again filled with mourners. This time, the grief was even heavier. Ankit stood by the door, watching as people offered their condolences. Richa, however, refused to even look at him.

"This is your fault," she said coldly. "First Daksh, and now Papa. You're cursed."

Ankit said nothing. Her words cut deep, but he had no energy left to defend himself.

After the funeral, Richa packed her belongings and left with Sharvan Uncle. "I can't stay here with him," she told one of the relatives. "This house is a graveyard, and he's the reason for it."

Ankit watched as she walked out the door, leaving him alone in the house that once echoed with laughter and love.

Finding Solace in Routine

With his family gone, Ankit focused on maintaining a strict routine. He woke up early, exercised, and attended college. He poured all his energy into his studies and physical training, finding solace in the discipline.

The pain of losing his family never left him, but he learned to live with it. He carried their memories in his heart, using them as motivation to become stronger.

A Familiar Face

A year later, Ashok Mittal, Ankit's old fighting trainer, arrived at the house. Ankit greeted him warmly, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"I heard about your father and brother," Ashok said, his voice heavy with sympathy. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I was bound by a contract and couldn't leave."

Ankit nodded. "I understand. Thank you for coming now."

The two sat in the living room, reminiscing about the past. Ashok looked around the house, noticing the emptiness. "It's hard to believe how much has changed," he said.

Ankit sighed. "It all started with Daksh's death," he began. "That day at the zoo changed everything."

The Story of Loss

Ankit recounted the events of that fateful day. He described the tiger breaking free from its enclosure, the panic that ensued, and how Daksh had fought bravely to protect everyone.

"I remember running," Ankit said, his voice trembling. "Daksh told me to take Richa and the others to safety. I didn't want to leave him, but he insisted. When I turned back, it was already too late."

Ashok placed a comforting hand on Ankit's shoulder. "You did what you had to do," he said. "Daksh made a choice to protect his family. You can't blame yourself for that."

Ankit shook his head. "It's not just about that day. After Daksh, Papa fell apart. He blamed me for everything, and Richa... she stopped talking to me. When Papa passed away, she left. I haven't seen her since, except for a brief time when I was injured fighting a tiger. She stayed for a while, but things were never the same."

Ashok listened patiently, letting Ankit pour out his heart. "You've been through a lot," he said. "But you're still standing. That says a lot about your strength."

Ankit nodded, his eyes brimming with tears he refused to let fall. "I just wish I could have done more," he said softly.

Ashok smiled faintly. "Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing to do. And you've done that. Your story isn't over yet, Ankit. Use your pain to build something meaningful."

As they sat in silence, Ankit felt a small weight lift from his chest. For the first time in a long while, he felt understood.