Aarav sits by his mother's side in the cold, sterile room, the soft beeping of machines the only sign of life.
Her pale face is turned slightly toward him, her closed eyes a stark reminder of how fragile she has become. He holds her hand, the coolness of her skin making his own fingers tremble.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Aarav whispers, his voice breaking. "I should've been here. You shouldn't have to carry everything on your own."
His throat tightens, and his chest feels heavy with guilt. The sight of her lying there, hooked up to wires and monitors, is almost too much to bear. He bites his lip, forcing back the tears threatening to spill over.
Behind him, his uncle's voice breaks the silence. "Aarav… there's nothing you could've done. Your mother is strong. She'll fight through this."
Aarav shakes his head, his gaze locked on his mother. "She's been fighting alone for too long. And Dad… why did he leave? Why did he make things harder for her?"
His uncle places a reassuring hand on Aarav's shoulder. "We don't know why he left. But sitting here, blaming yourself, won't help. Go home, get some rest. You'll think clearer once you do."
Reluctantly, Aarav nods, letting go of his mother's hand. As he steps out of the hospital room, he steals one last glance at her. I'll make things right, Mom. I promise.
The house feels suffocatingly empty when Aarav steps inside. The faint scent of his mother's favorite incense still lingers, but instead of comforting him, it only deepens his sense of loss.
Every corner of the house seems to echo her absence, her laughter replaced by a deafening silence.
He drops his bag on the floor and slumps onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What do I do now?" he murmurs to himself, his voice barely audible.
His mind races with thoughts of his mother's condition, his father's disappearance, and the debts his family must have accumulated. The weight of it all feels like it's crushing him.
I can't just sit here. I have to do something.
Fueled by desperation, Aarav heads to his parents' bedroom, a place he rarely ventured into. He opens the drawers of an old wooden desk, rummaging through papers and keepsakes. Dust rises as he pulls out folders, photo albums, and letters.
He flips through an old photo album, his fingers trembling. A picture catches his eye—a photograph of his adoptive parents with a young boy. Aarav frowns, his heart skipping a beat. The boy isn't him.
"Who is this?" he mutters, staring at the boy's face. The photo feels out of place, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit. He turns it over, hoping for some explanation, but the back is blank.
His heart pounds as he pushes the album aside and digs deeper.
He finds a bundle of documents tied with a frayed ribbon. His hands shake as he unties it, revealing loan agreements and medical bills. His eyes scan the pages, the words blurring together:
"Loan Amount: ₹2,00,000. Purpose: Medical Expenses."
Aarav's jaw tightens as he pieces it together. His parents had been drowning in debt long before his father disappeared. Was this why his father left? Or was it something more?
As he continues searching, his hand brushes against something solid. He pulls out a framed photograph hidden at the back of the drawer.
It's his father, younger and dressed in a professional uniform, looking dignified and proud. Aarav stares at the picture, a lump forming in his throat.
"Who were you, Dad? What happened to you? Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"
Aarav sinks to the floor, clutching the photograph to his chest. The weight of everything crashes over him: the image of his mother lying in the hospital, his father's mysterious disappearance, and the debts that have haunted their family.
Tears stream down his face as he mutters, "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry for not seeing how much you were struggling. I should've done more."
But amid the sorrow and guilt, a spark of determination ignites within him. He grips the photograph tighter, his eyes narrowing.
"I'll find you, Dad," he says, his voice steady despite the tears. "I'll figure out the truth. And I'll make sure Mom gets through this."
Aarav sitting in the dimly lit room, the framed photograph in his hands. His reflection stares back at him from the glass, filled with pain, anger, and resolve.
His whispered vow echoes in the silence:
"No matter what it takes.