Not the peaceful kind. The kind that weighs down on your chest, thick and suffocating, filling every inch of space with everything left unsaid.
The Singhania Mansion stands frozen in time-grand, untouched, and soulless. The air reeks of polished wood, expensive cologne, and freshly cut lilies arranged too perfectly, as if someone is desperately trying to mask the stench of decay underneath.
The chandelier above casts a golden glow, stretching long shadows across the walls, but it never quite reaches the corners.
It never reaches me.
I step forward, my footsteps barely making a sound against the marble floor. The living room is as I left it-a perfect illusion of a family that doesn't exist.
My father sits in his usual place, whiskey swirling in his glass, the business section of the newspaper spread before him. He isn't reading. Just staring at the pages as if they hold more value than the son standing before him.
My mother sits across from him, her back perfectly straight, scrolling through her phone with the kind of detached grace only she can master. The dim light catches on her diamond bracelet, making it glimmer, but her gaze is dull, lifeless.
They don't acknowledge me.
But the disappointment?
It's loud.
It always is.
And then there's her.
My sister.
Sixteen. Young enough to still feel, still care. But smart enough to stay silent. She sits near our mother, a book open in her lap, her fingers resting on the edges of the pages.
She doesn't greet me either.
Because she knows better.
I take another step, my grip tightening around the strap of my bag. They won't speak first. They never do.
But the moment stretches too long, and finally-they break the silence.
"You're late," my mother says, not looking up. Not asking where I was. Not asking why.
My father flips a page, his voice as dull as the ice clinking in his glass. "Another wasted day, I assume."
Another wasted day. Because I wasn't in the office. Because I wasn't proving myself. Because I wasn't trying hard enough to be the heir they wanted.
My mother finally lifts her gaze, her expression unreadable. Calculated. Cold.
"Do you even take your future seriously, Rivan?"
The pressure builds in my chest, pressing against my ribs, against my throat. It's always about the future. The empire. The legacy.
Never about me.
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "Your sister is only sixteen, but at least she listens."
The perfect daughter. The disappointment of a son.
I don't react. I never do.
Because reacting means caring. And caring in this house?
It's a weakness.
I glance at my sister, just once, just to see if she'll meet my eyes.
She doesn't.
At least, not at first.
I turn, taking the stairs two at a time, putting distance between me and the weight pressing down on my chest.
But just before I disappear, I feel it.
A shift.
A presence.
I pause. Just for a second.
And then I see her.
My sister.
Her head is tilted up now, her dark eyes locked on my back. She grips the edges of her book, knuckles pale. There's something in her stare-something desperate, something raw, something screaming in a house where voices are never raised.
And for a split second, I see it.
Love.
The kind she isn't allowed to show.
The kind I don't know how to accept.
But she says nothing.
She won't.
She can't.
Because in this house, love is an inconvenience. A flaw. A burden.
And I am already too much of one.
I turn away. Keep walking.
They don't stop me.
They never do.
Author's POV: The Singhania Mansion
(After Rivan Leaves)
The grand hall of the Singhania Mansion settles into silence, but it's the kind of silence that carries weight. Unspoken expectations. Deep-seated disappointment. A void that never seems to be filled.
Rajveer exhales through his nose, his grip tightening around the whiskey glass. He doesn't look at his wife, doesn't need to. The tension in the air is enough.
Eshwariya sits still, her expression unreadable, but the sharp tap of her nails against the armrest betrays her irritation.
"This is exhausting," she mutters, eyes fixed on the empty space where Rivan had stood. "Every time he walks through that door, it's the same. He looks at us like we're the ones who failed him."
Rajveer scoffs, taking a slow sip of his drink. "He was never meant to be like this." His voice is cold, edged with something deeper-something dangerously close to resentment. "A Singhania who refuses to be a Singhania."
Eshwariya's lips press into a thin line. "We gave him everything. The best education, the finest life, a name that commands power. And yet-" she exhales sharply, shaking her head. "He walks around like a ghost in his own home. Like he doesn't belong."
Rajveer's gaze hardens. "Because he refuses to." He sets his glass down with a dull thud. "He should be preparing to take over the empire, but instead, he wastes time at that university. Psychology, of all things." His tone drips with disdain. "What good is that degree when he should be in the boardroom?"
Eshwariya leans forward, her voice lower, sharper. "He's a disappointment, Rajveer. And the worst part? He doesn't even care."
From the other side of the room, Riya listens.
She keeps her head down, pretending to read, but her fingers tighten on the book's pages, creasing them slightly.
She doesn't dare speak.
She doesn't dare look up.
But as she stares at the words she isn't really reading, one thought lingers-does Ivy even know how much they despise him?
โโโโโโโฆโโโโโโ
๐ฅ And that was just another evening in the Singhania Mansion-where silence spoke louder than words.
โจ How was the first chapter, my sweet inklings? ๐
Your thoughts mean everything to me! If you enjoyed it, drop a comment and let me know-it truly keeps me motivated. Can't wait to hear from you! ๐
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