Radha walked towards the French window, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the glass. The hospital was situated in a quiet, secluded place. The direct view of the mountain ranges was hardest to get in a city like Mumbai, where concrete often swallowed every glimpse of nature. Her hands shook as she gripped the windowsill tightly.
Ajay was waiting patiently for her to pour everything out, and she was ready. He might judge her or whatever... she didn't care. She wanted to end these stupid sessions once and for all. There was no healing for her, no redemption, no escape. She had to carry her guilt like a curse, a punishment for what she did. Once Ajay realized that she was a lost cause, he would stop putting so much pressure on her to open up.
"I was fourteen..." She began quietly, "when I saw the man I loved, respected, and looked up to as my whole world raise his hand against his wife. He was angry. Anger is a normal emotion; everyone feels it, right? But he chose control and violence to display that. He chose power over compassion, dominance over love for his own wife. The woman supported her husband... choosing to hate her own child, ignoring her without giving any heed to the pain she was inflicting on her six-year-old daughter. Pushing away her seven-year-old daughter. Yelling at her eight-year-old daughter. Turning away from her nine-year-old daughter. Comparing her ten-year-old child with other well-behaved kids. Belittling her eleven-year-old daughter, breaking her spirit piece by piece..."
Radha chuckled through the tears that fell without her consent. "Well, the list is too long. But guess what? That same girl deserved everything that happened to her. She deserved to go through all that, neglect, rejection, humiliation, because when the man raised his hand against his wife, that same girl stayed quiet, hiding in the room without a word. She didn't take a stand for her mother. She didn't step in to confront the man. She didn't scream, didn't stop him. She pretended as if nothing had happened... like she didn't just witness all her illusions break before her eyes. She pretended to be normal, like it was just another ordinary day in her life..."
Radha choked on her words. It was hard to empty yourself, to say out loud what you hate the most about yourself. To confess your own sins burned one's mouth... and that's exactly what she was experiencing.
"There was a time when I heard the man letting his wife know how he wanted to parcel me off to a boarding school." She chuckled darkly. "Better yet, yelling at her. How fed up he was with his dumb daughter, who couldn't speak properly in front of their few friends, who couldn't be the trophy daughter they wanted like other kids. She was always shy and nervous around strangers. How, if it had been in his hands, he would have killed her the day she was born, but unlucky for him, his own father stopped him... and he regretted having a girl instead of a boy."
"Jab main Bhaiya, Bhaiyu ya Abhi ke saath hoti thi... (When I was with Bhaiya, Bhaiyu, or Abhi...) That was the only moment I felt I could be myself, without any hesitation, without being yelled at for laughing too loudly, without being careful of what others might say. Unguarded... silly. My heart knew my brothers would never judge me, and they never did."
The third-person façade she had built for years finally stripped off, crumbling down, the defense mechanism finally changing its route to self-acknowledgment, not a stranger's pain, not a third party's story, but her own truth, her own wounds laid bare. Ajay listened silently, without interrupting, without judgment, just letting her unravel at her own pace.
"But Dad... he didn't like that carefree side of me," Radha continued. "He wanted me to behave like a lady. He expected his thirteen-year-old daughter to act like a twenty-year-old adult, with a taunt about how pathetic she was in whatever she did. The embarrassment I felt was nothing compared to the words that felt like a slap. The way the kids I mingled with giggled beside their parents... and I wasn't even allowed to do anything without their permission, yet I still made them feel awkward in front of their high-class friends. I-I tried to run back to the car to hide... or call my brothers... but my mom always held me in place. Her grip was like a warning, not to make a scene. Like it wasn't a big deal. Like a thirteen-year-old girl having a tantrum would cost them a diamond deal worth more than her own dignity."
She finally turned back, facing Ajay, her eyes red with tears, her face drained, trembling under the weight of everything she had held in for years.
"But that girl deserved everything that happened to her. A daughter who couldn't stand by her mother's side... being so selfish to send the couple out on a date on their anniversary, forgetting the truth of what had happened, was nothing but a bitch. And I am that. Mujhe... mujhe hostel nahi jaana tha. Mujhe apne bhaiyon se door nahi jaana tha, isliye maine woh galat kiya jo mujhe sahi laga. (I... I didn't want to go to a hostel. I didn't want to be away from my brothers, so I did something wrong that felt right to me.) And the result of it all... I lost my parents. It was I who asked them to go. It was me who arranged that stupid date. It was me who sent them away that night without knowing it would be their last. They died because of me!"
She wiped off the tears with the back of her hands harshly. "And in the last moments, even before Mumma could say she loves me... she g-gave up..." Her voice broke, "and Dad... he hated me so much that he wasn't even interested in meeting me in his last moments. Both of them punished me in their own ways, even when they were leaving me forever. How... how am I... su-supposed to not to hate myself after everything I-I did....." Her breath hitched; yet another set of panic attacks hit her like a ruthless tidal wave...
She fell on her knees with a loud thud, grasping her neck. Air felt trapped inside her system; everything she had just said out loud echoed in her ears, reminding her of her own guilt and helplessness...
Ajay rushed, kneeling beside her, holding her by her shoulders. "Take a deep breath, Radhika." His tone was firm yet gentle. "You are here with me... not in the past, not in that moment. You are in the present..." He grounded her, trying to anchor her back to reality.
Radha shook her head. She gasped out loud, her petite figure recoiling. She was in the present, yet she could hear her parents' voices, their words, their anger loud and clear. She couldn't run away from them anymore; they had followed her into every breath she took.
"I-I deserve this... I-I want to feel..." Her words trailed away the moment she was pulled into a warm embrace.
Radha didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was; she felt her Bhaiya around her, steady and familiar. Without meaning to, her fingers grasped his T-shirt tightly, holding on to the last remaining pieces of herself that she felt she was losing.
Mahir held her close to his heart, shielding her like he always had. He heard everything that Radha spoke, all that she went through, and all that happened. Ajay had made sure to call him and keep him connected on the line.
His heart was ripped into pieces. He felt helpless and angry towards Raghav and Payal. Differences between a husband and wife should never touch a child, should never affect a child, the way it had destroyed a pure soul like Radha. She had carried everything alone for years, but he was never going to let her do that again.
Radha clutched onto Mahir, her breath coming back to a shaky, uneven rhythm, tears trickling down her face. "You know, Bhaiya... maine kahin padha tha... (I read somewhere...)." She continued, her voice broken, "Agar pita daant de ya unchi awaaz mein baache se baat bhi kar le, toh voh baacha apni maa ki taraf mud kar uske aanchal mein chhupta hai sabse pehle. (If a father scolds or even raises his voice at a child, the child turns to their mother first and hides in her embrace.) But Mumma... she was a wife and never a mother. Every time I saw Mumma's indifference, I told myself I was at fault. Galti meri hai. Meri wajah se Mom-Dad hamesha ladte rehte hain. Meri wajah se ghar ka mahaul kharab hota rehta hai.(Because me they always fought. I was the one who spoiled everyone's mood at home.) When you took a stand for me, you had to go against Badi Maa and Bade Papa... And fights escalated from there. Isliye... isliye main... (That's why... that's why I...)"
She pulled back, looking at Mahir. "I... started to change myself. I started to maintain distance from you all, trying not to be obvious. Jab aap bahar jaate the tab main bahana bana kar ruk jaati thi. (When you three used to go out, I would make excuses and stay back.) Dad wanted me to stay away from you, and I followed that. I pushed you away... hurt you with my words... hoping one day they would change and love me too. I started to focus on everything... doing everything Mumma told me. She wanted to send me to coaching classes, and I did that. She wanted me to get a medal or a first-rank certificate like one of her friend's daughters... she wanted me to break that record. But pity me... I couldn't. I came second. Dad ripped away my certificate in front of my eyes... and Mom didn't even look at my face for a week."
She looked down with a self-deprecating smile. "Still... like a good daughter, I wanted to be. I-I didn't cry... I-I was just hurt, but I forced myself not to cry. I disappointed my parents, so why should I cry? I didn't deserve to shed tears. I tried to do everything they wanted... but stupid me, I always failed in whatever I did. I always came second... and couldn't see the proud smile or even hear a small 'good' from my them... they were always disappointed."
She looked up at Mahir. "See... You wanted me to love myself? Ab bataiye kaise pyaar karu main khud se jab maine itna kuch galat kiya hai? (Now tell me, how do I love myself when I've done so many wrong things?) I failed my parents... I didn't take a stand for my mother... I behaved so selfishly... I am the reason my parents are no more. How can a person like me... someone so dumb and undeserving... even begin to love herself... or deserve to be loved at all?"
Mahir blinked away the tears that fogged his eyes, pulling Radha back into his warmth. He had a lot to say, but after seeing her shattered state, his own words failed him. All these years, he thought he was helping her, protecting her... but now that he had heard the depth of her pain and guilt, he didn't know how to undo the damage she had been carrying alone for so long.
Ajay stepped out of the room, giving the siblings privacy. Hate? Even that word felt short, too small compared to the rage he was feeling for Raghav and Payal.
The world was competitive, he agreed, but everything had its own timing. And even when that time came, rather than imposing, parents should give their kids a choice, whether they wanted to do something or not.
But Radha's parents, they weren't just selfish, they were controlling, toxic, suffocating, with her father's mind filled with old-school patriarchal beliefs, and her mother, who believed her husband was god himself, following him blindly without questioning right or wrong.
Now he understood why Radha was a prodigy. She was fifteen yet could read the hardest vocabulary, she could paint, she always came in the top three rankers in her class, and even in competitions, she excelled like a pro. But they weren't her own wishes or dreams; they were her yearning to receive her parents' unconditional love, a desperate attempt to be seen and accepted.
He had seen Radha's paintings; there was always a hollow in them, a missing piece that screamed emptiness despite the colors. The paintings were her way of expressing the feelings locked inside the cage of her heart, emotions she was never allowed to voice out loud.
She had even started writing; she showed him rough drafts of her poems, a few weeks ago. She poured her feelings into them, trying to learn how to feel and express, and also to empty her heart. She learned all that just to see that one satisfied look in her parents' eyes... But everything took a turn, and they died.
There was an artist in Radha, raw and deeply intuitive, something that sparked her interest and intrigued her, but nothing was enough for her parents. For them, these things weren't real. Academics and the results were what they expected and wanted from Radha.
Ajay sighed deeply. Physical abuse leaves scars on the skin, but mental and emotional abuse leave scars on the soul, and Radhika Dhanrajgir was one such survivor. Not a victim. If she had given up, he still wouldn't have blamed her, but the crawling wounds on her soul, inflicted by her own parents, were proof of how hard she had fought, and was still fighting, to become someone she never even got the chance to understand.
He could go back and give her words of comfort and encouragement; that was his job. But within just a few sessions, this had become personal. Radha wasn't just a patient. She was his best friend's little sister... and today, she was as much his sister as she was Mahir's.
He walked away knowing Radha didn't need words or therapy techniques right now; she needed her brother, who would make sure to pull her back on her feet without any conditions or expectations.
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