R I S H I R A J ' S  P O V

Fear never came to me when enemies stand tall before my eyes, or when the world itself looks ready to break me. I always believe courage is born only in the presence of real danger, in battles that demand blood and voice.

Yet today, I feel this courage melt before something that has no face and no voice. It is something my own mind turns into a towering shadow. In my mind, this enemy becomes sharp like a sword and heavy like a mountain pressing on my chest. My heart has already started preparing for a battle of life and death.

A moment later I saw my enemy.

A terrifying little sh!t wearing an evil smile. When I see it fully, I realize it is nothing more than a thin, shining needle waiting to dig into my skin as if it plans my dramatic end.

"Nooo. Save me." I open my eyes at once and see Mom and Nani staring at me with worried expressions. Dad looks at me with a tired, done face, as if he sees my enemy too and has already accepted its victory. So he knows about my enemy.

I run to him and clutch his arm like a soldier hiding behind his commander.

"Dad. It will kill me. Dad, you saw that, right?"

"Yes, Champ, I see very clearly how it is about to end your brave life," Dad says in a gentle tone with a long, exhausted sigh. "By the way, Mr. Big Baby, that terrifying monster you are talking about is a needle."

He pats my head while I stare at the tiny shining weapon of doom in my mind again looking at me with that freaking evil smile.

"Rishu, you scared us! We thought something terrible happened last night when you screamed like that!" Mom says, still catching her breath as she presses her hand to her chest.

Nani narrows her eyes at me. "Do not tell me you imagine that injection inside that empty box you call it as your brain."

She looks at me in that way that always makes my soul try to escape from my body and hide somewhere far away. Her brows slowly pull together, forming two sharp lines that show she is not impressed. Her eyes move over my face carefully, as if she is checking every foolish thought passing through my head and counting each one. When she first came to meet me, I actually peed in my pants. I still remember how she stood at the door, tall and straight, her saree neatly pleated without a single crease out of place, her back perfectly upright, her chin slightly lifted, and her eyes calm but powerful. She does not need to raise her voice. One look from her is enough to make anyone stand properly. I truly believe she can see through walls and straight into a person's intentions.

But behind that strict face and those sharp, calculating eyes, there is a softness that only shows itself quietly. When she places her hand on my head, it always stays there a moment longer than necessary, her fingers gently pressing my hair as if making sure I am really there and safe. She checks my plate not once but twice, sometimes three times, pretending she is only inspecting the food while actually making sure I eat enough. Her tone is firm and steady when she speaks, a tone that leaves no space for argument, yet when I fall sick, she sits beside my bed the entire night, adjusting my blanket, touching my forehead to check my fever, and whispering small prayers under her breath.

She carries discipline like a shield that protects the whole family from chaos, and she hides her care like a secret treasure that only reveals itself in small, quiet actions.

"Nani, do not insult my brain like this. I have some reputation," I say, lifting my chin high and puffing my chest a little, trying to look brave and important while still hiding half of my body behind Dad's arm like a scared kitten.

"Yes, yes, reputation," she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and looking down at me as if she is examining a very disappointing report card. "A reputation that starts shaking in front of one thin needle. Wah, what a legendary name you are building."

I frown at her dramatic tone. She shakes her head slowly, as if I am the biggest tragedy of her life, but I notice the tiny curve at the corner of her lips. She tries hard to hide it, yet it is there.

She steps closer and grabs my hair, fixing it in a rough way that almost feels like punishment. Then her fingers slow down. She smooths it properly. She pulls my collar straight, brushes invisible dust from my shoulder, and presses the fabric flat with careful hands.

"Stand properly," she says, her voice firm but not loud. "And stop shaking like a leaf in a storm. It is only for your health." I pout even more, my lips pushing forward in full protest but I guess none will work today.

"Rishu, nothing will happen. Just go and take the tetanus shot. Your Rashmi Maasi will be there. Tumhe darne ki zarurat nahi hai," Mom says patiently, holding my shoulders as if she can press courage into me.
("You do not need to be afraid.")

But how can she understand that my dear Rashmi maasi is the official gatekeeper of my lifelong enemy. She smiles sweetly and then attacks with a needle. That is betrayal at the highest level.

"Woh wahi hai isiliye mujhe aur darne ki zarurat hai, Mom," I thought quietly in my mind. I do not dare say it out loud. If Nani hears even one disrespectful word about her niece, my soul will actually leave my body this time.
("Because it is her, I have even more reason to be afraid, Mom.")

Soon the lecture session begins. One by one, they start explaining how careless I am. How I do not value my health. How I roam around without thinking. When I skip meals, ignore wounds, or laugh off pain, they do not see bravery. They see immaturity.

Slowly, the topic shifts to girls and marriage, as if my future wife is already connected to every habit I have. In their eyes, when a man truly loves someone, he begins to fear losing her. That fear does not make him weak. It makes him careful. He comes home on time. He eats properly. He avoids unnecessary risks. He starts thinking beyond himself.

Their philosophy is simple. Right now, they believe I live like a free bird with no emotional anchor. They think that once I fall deeply in love, I will understand what it means to protect not just my own life, but someone else's happiness too.

To them, marriage is not only romance. It is discipline with affection. It is waking up every day and choosing stability over impulse. They often say that if a wife is upset, the whole house feels it. I have seen those silent wars. No shouting, yet the air feels heavy. Small arguments turn into long evenings of silence. They call it a world war as a joke, but what they truly mean is this: when two people share a life, even small emotions carry weight.

From their perspective, love teaches accountability. If you care for someone, you become careful with yourself, because hurting yourself indirectly hurts them. They believe my carelessness means I have not yet understood attachment deeply enough. Not that I do not love them, but that I have not felt the kind of love that changes habits.

Honestly, I do not blame them. I understand their mindset because I have seen it in my own father. He became more responsible when he first saw my mother. Later, when he understood my grandmother's strict nature, he changed even more. He adjusted his habits. He became calmer, steadier, and more thoughtful. He became a different man for my mother.

But how can I explain that I once thought I understood it?

There was a girl I believed I loved for years. When I was growing up, I was vulnerable. When someone stands beside you in your vulnerable phase, when no one else really sees your silent struggles, it feels like love. Maybe I did not fall in love with her at first. Maybe I fell in love with the feeling of being cared for.

Over time, I started liking her more and more. I imagined her beside me in my future. But maybe in her story, I was only a friend. There was no promise between us. No commitment about marriage. Just feelings growing quietly on one side, and that side was mine.

It hurt when I understood that. But I am fine now. Truly fine. Sometimes it is okay to feel a little broken. She did not become my forever, but she became my lesson. Years ago, she made me choose happiness. Now she has taught me the difference between holding on and letting go with peace.

So when they say I have not yet loved deeply enough to become responsible, maybe they are partly right.

Maybe in their generation, responsibility followed love. In mine, perhaps love first teaches healing.

And when the right person comes, I want that responsibility to not feel like some pressure. It will feel natural.

A U T H O R ' S   P O V

"Okay fine, my favourite humans. Fine. I will go to face that mess. Just do not bring up marriage on this topic." Rishi raises his voice just enough to cut through the overlapping arguments in the room. His words echo slightly against the walls. He lifts both his hands in surrender, palms facing outward, as if he is negotiating a peace treaty.

They all fall silent and stare at him with surprised expressions.

"You agreed to go to the hospital?" Suhasini's mother asks, narrowing her eyes at him to check if he is lying.

Rishi presses his lips together and nods once. Then he nods again, slower this time, to make it clear that he means it. He drags a hand through his slightly messy hair and exhales loudly.

All three of them blink at the same time. And for a few seconds, they open and close their mouths without saying anything, looking exactly like confused fish.

"They are right in their place for fulfilling their promises," Rishi continues, pacing a step back and forth. "But Abhiraj is not ready to marry. He is doing it only for his family." He shakes his head, frowning. "And I definitely do not want a girl clinging to me like his fiancée does with him every single time. She does not even let him breathe. Eww."

He exaggerates a shiver and rubs his arms dramatically as if he has caught a chill. Then he pulls out a chair at the dining table with a loud scrape and drops into it. He reaches for a toast, takes a large bite, and chews stubbornly, as though that ends the discussion. The three of them exchange slow, meaningful glances.

"Dhir, have you ever had THAT talk with our son?" Suhasini asks slowly. She stands in the middle of the hall with her arms folded, her voice dropping as if the walls themselves might blush.

"What is THAT, Suhu?" Randhir asks in confusion.

"Boys talk, Randhir. Have you talked to him about... you know... whether he is interested in boys or girls? Or whether his blood rushes south whenever he sees the same gender or an opposite one? Has he watched any porn, and if yes, what kind? Same gender or opposite?" Suhasini's mother says carefully, choosing her words to make her son-in-law understand.

"Maa... bas... samajh gaya. Aur mat boliye," Randhir whisper-yelled, his face turning as red as a tomato as he hears his mother in law speak so freely and continuously about such topics. He looks around nervously, as if the walls themselves might start listening.
("Enough....I understood. No need to explain more")

"But why were you asking that, Suhu?" he asks after a moment, still trying to recover from the boldness of her words. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, buying himself a second to steady his embarrassment.

"Because I am feeling like... our son is interested in..." Suhasini begins softly. She hesitates and looks at her mother.

Then both Suhasini and her mother say together in a low but dramatic voice, "Boys."

Randhir's eyes widened in realization. He blinks twice, absorbing the possibility, and then murmurs slowly, "Yes... maybe. The way he said he does not want a girl clinging to him..."

He trails off, staring blankly ahead as the pieces start forming in his mind.

"Oh my God," Randhir suddenly says, his shoulders drooping. "I had always dreamt that I would get a daughter by marrying my son off. I even thought I would give extra gifts to the girl's family just so they would happily send her to us. I wanted a daughter in the house."

He sighs dramatically and makes a sad face as if he lost something precious.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Suhasini says, copying his sad expression and placing a consoling hand on his shoulder, "because this son of ours is going to bring another son with him."

While Suhasini's mother stands there watching the couple, she folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head slightly. For a moment she wonders whether she should feel proud that her daughter and son in law are still this dramatic and adorable after so many years of marriage, or whether she should scold them for getting emotional at the wrong time. This is hardly the moment to mourn imaginary daughters in law.

"What are you three doing there?" Rishi's voice booms from the dining area.

All three of them jump slightly and turn toward him.

"Nothing," they reply at the same time, far too quickly to sound convincing.

Rishi narrows his eyes suspiciously. He wipes his fingers with a napkin and points his spoon at them. "You three stop conspiring behind my back. I am not going to marry now. Not in the next five years."

He says it with full confidence, lifts his chin proudly, and turns back to his plate as if he has delivered a final verdict.

The three elders exchange a long look. A shared sigh escapes them.

Suhasini's mother mutters under her breath, just loud enough for the other two to hear, "Let us see how long this confidence survives when you see her, unless you are not straight."

Then she straightens her saree pallu and adds with quiet certainty, "Agar Sunetra Bhati ke kathor dil ko woh ladki bha sakti hai, toh tumhara yeh naadaan dil uski saadgi dekh kar zaroor fisal jaayega, Rishiraj Chauhan."
("If Sunetra Bhati, with her strict and stone like heart, likes that girl, then your innocent heart will definitely slip after seeing her simplicity, Rishiraj Chauhan.")

With that dramatic declaration, she walks toward the dining table and pulls out a chair gracefully, as though she has already seen the future.

Behind her, Suhasini and Randhir stand still for a second. Then both of them silently close their eyes and fold their hands in a small prayer. They hope, with all sincerity, that someday a daughter in law will walk into their home and fill the empty corner of their hearts that has always longed for a daughter.

And Rishi keeps eating his breakfast, but his mind is nowhere near the table. It is trapped in pure, childish terror. The image of that shining needle flashes before his eyes again and again.

His disastrous enemy.

He swallows hard. The spoon pauses midway to his mouth. His heart starts beating faster at the mere thought of the cold spirit on his skin, the sharp prick, the sting that follows. He clenches his jaw.

How can something so small look so deadly?

He straightens in his chair and forces himself to take another bite, pretending bravery. But inside, he is already planning. Maybe he can say he suddenly feels better. Maybe he can claim he has important work. Maybe the hospital will mysteriously close for the day.

To the others, he looks calm.

Inside, he is preparing to face the most terrifying weapon known to mankind.

An injection.

Deep inside, a strange uneasiness settles in his chest as he remembers the day he first encountered his enemy in childhood.

But this time, he does not have even the smallest idea what is waiting for him on the other side of that hospital door.

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