Chapter 4: Intervention

Rony's grip tightened. Just a fraction, but Sri felt it. His thumb pressed against the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse beat steadily beneath the skin. His fingers adjusted their position, shifting slightly to hold her more firmly.

Sri's breath hitched. The change in pressure wasn't aggressive exactly, but it was deliberate. Intentional. Like he was testing something. Feeling something.

His eyes remained locked on her face. Unblinking. That same intense focus that had startled her at dinner. But now, in the dimmed living room with just the two of them and his hand wrapped around her wrist, the intensity felt different. Heavier.

She should say something. Should acknowledge this moment somehow. But her voice had disappeared somewhere in her throat.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant tick of a wall clock somewhere in the house.

Rony's thumb moved. A small circular motion against her pulse point. Gentle. Almost tender.

Sri's entire body went cold.

That wasn't the touch of a grieving child seeking comfort. That was something else entirely. Something that made her skin prickle with an emotion she couldn't quite name.

She opened her mouth to speak—to say what, she didn't know—when footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Quick footsteps. Purposeful.

Sri's head jerked toward the staircase just as Raj appeared at the top. He stood there for a moment, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light behind him. Then he started down.

Not rushing. Not running. But definitely not casual either. His footsteps were deliberate, each one landing firmly enough to announce his presence.

Raj reached the bottom step and stopped. His eyes went immediately to Rony's hand wrapped around his mother's wrist, then up to Sri's frozen expression, then to Rony's face.

"Mom," Raj said. His voice was firm. Controlled. "It's late. You should get some sleep."

There was no question in the statement. No suggestion. Just a clear directive that left no room for argument.

Sri blinked, pulled abruptly out of the strange suspended moment she'd been trapped in. She looked at Raj, then down at Rony's hand still gripping her wrist.

Rony's fingers released immediately. Like someone had cut the strings on a puppet, his hand dropped away from her wrist and fell to his side. Then his whole body contracted inward. He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, wrapped both arms around them, and pressed his forehead down against his kneecaps.

Back to the beginning. Back to the hunched, motionless form that had occupied this corner for days.

Like the last several minutes had never happened.

Sri stared at him, confused by the sudden shift. One second he'd been holding her wrist with that unsettling intensity, the next he'd completely withdrawn into himself.

She stood up slowly, her legs stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. Her hand brushed automatically at her kurta, smoothing out wrinkles that had formed in the fabric.

When she looked at Raj, her expression wasn't grateful. It was annoyed.

Raj stood his ground at the base of the stairs, his jaw set, his eyes still locked on Rony's hunched form. He didn't look at his mother. Didn't acknowledge the irritation radiating off her.

Sri moved toward the staircase, her movements sharp with restrained frustration. She walked past Raj without a word, her shoulder nearly brushing his as she started up the steps.

Raj waited a beat, then followed.

Their footsteps on the wooden stairs sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet house. Each step creaked slightly under their weight. Heavy. Deliberate. The sound of two people who weren't happy with each other.

They reached the second floor and walked down the narrow hallway toward their bedrooms. Sri stopped between the two guest room doors and turned to face Raj.

The hallway light cast harsh shadows across her face. Her eyes were narrow, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"What was that?" she whispered harshly, keeping her voice low enough not to wake Uncle Prakash but injecting enough venom into it to make her anger clear.

Raj crossed his arms over his chest. "What was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me." Sri's whisper grew sharper. "I was finally making progress with him. Finally getting him to engage after hours of sitting there, and you just barged in and—"

"Hours?" Raj interrupted. "You've been down there for hours?"

"Yes, Raj. Hours. Because that's what it takes. Patience. Compassion. Sitting with someone in their pain instead of expecting them to just snap out of it on your schedule."

"That's not what I—"

"He was opening up," Sri continued, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and dropped back to an angry whisper. "He was listening to me. He made eye contact. He reached out to me. Do you understand how significant that is? Your uncle said he hasn't initiated physical contact with anyone since his mother died."

Raj's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "That's not what that was."

"What are you talking about?"

"The way he was holding your wrist. The way he was looking at you." Raj struggled to put his unease into words that didn't sound crazy. "Something was wrong about it, Mom. It didn't feel like a kid seeking comfort."

Sri's expression shifted from anger to something closer to disappointment. "Raj, he's grieving. People in grief don't behave normally. They reach out in unexpected ways. They need connection, physical reassurance that they're not alone."

"I know that, but—"

"No, I don't think you do." Sri's voice took on a harder edge. "You keep watching him like he's some kind of threat instead of a traumatized child who just lost his mother."

"I'm not saying he's a threat. I'm saying something about his behavior feels off. The staring. The way he grabbed your wrist without warning. It's not normal."

"Nothing about grief is normal!" Sri's whisper turned harsh enough that it was almost a hiss. "There's no handbook for how you're supposed to act when your mother dies. No correct way to seek comfort. Rony is doing the best he can, and I'm trying to help him, and you keep interfering."

Raj felt heat rising in his chest. Frustration mixed with genuine concern. "I'm not interfering. I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Sri's eyebrows shot up. "From what exactly? From a grieving eighteen-year-old boy who weighs maybe fifty kilos soaking wet? You think I need protection from that?"

"You don't see the way he looks at you."

"He looks at me like I'm a lifeline, Raj. Because that's what I'm trying to be for him. A maternal figure. Someone who can partially fill the void his mother left."

"It's more than that."

"Based on what?" Sri challenged. "Based on your feeling? Your intuition? You've known him for less than a day, Raj. You can't possibly understand what he's going through."

"And you can?"

The words came out sharper than Raj intended. Sri's expression hardened.

"I can empathize," she said coldly. "I can remember what it felt like when my mother died. I can imagine how much worse it would be to lose her at eighteen instead of twenty-three. I can try to be there for him in ways that actually help instead of just standing around suspecting him of god knows what."

Raj felt the words like physical blows. His mother had lost her grandmother when he was young—he remembered the funeral, remembered her crying—but he'd been too young to really understand. And she was right. He'd never lost anyone that close to him. Never experienced that kind of grief firsthand.

But that didn't change what he'd seen. What he'd felt watching Rony grip his mother's wrist.

"I'm just saying be careful," Raj tried again, softening his tone. "I'm not trying to be insensitive. I'm worried about—"

"You're worried about nothing," Sri cut him off. "Rony is a child in pain. That's all. Your uncle asked us here to help, and that's what I'm trying to do. What you should be doing is supporting that instead of creating problems where there aren't any."

"I am supporting—"

"No, you're not. You're watching him like a hawk, questioning every interaction, interrupting moments of genuine progress. Do you know how long it took me to get him to even acknowledge my presence? Nearly two hours of just sitting there, talking into the void. And then finally, finally he responded. He looked at me. He reached out. And you ruined it."

Raj's jaw clenched. "I was trying to—"

"I know what you were trying to do. You were trying to 'save' me from something that doesn't need saving from." Sri's voice dripped with frustration. "But in the process, you just set back whatever trust I was building with Rony. He was starting to see me as safe. Someone he could turn to. And then you stormed in like I was in danger, like he was doing something wrong, and now he's probably back in his head thinking he can't reach out to anyone."

The accusation stung. Raj hadn't thought about it that way. He'd just reacted to what he saw—his mother frozen on the floor with Rony's hand gripping her wrist, that disturbing intensity in his cousin's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Raj said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"You don't understand, Raj." Sri's voice softened slightly, but the disappointment remained. "You've never lost anyone close to you. You've never experienced real grief. You don't know what it does to people. How it makes them behave in ways that seem strange to outsiders but are perfectly natural responses to unbearable pain."

The words landed heavy in Raj's chest. His mother wasn't wrong. He hadn't experienced that kind of loss. Had no frame of reference for what Rony was going through.

But he knew what he saw. And what he saw didn't sit right.

"I'm trying to understand," Raj said. "I just—"

"Try harder." Sri's tone left no room for argument. "Your uncle is counting on us. Rony needs us. I need you to stop questioning everything and just trust that I know what I'm doing."

Raj wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that trust didn't mean ignoring warning signs. But his mother's expression had shifted into that particular set look she got when her mind was made up. Nothing he said would change it.

"Fine," Raj said finally.

"Thank you." Sri turned toward her bedroom door, her hand on the knob. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm exhausted. It's been a very long day."

She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her without another word. Not quite a slam, but definitely not gentle either.

Raj stood alone in the hallway, staring at his mother's closed door. Frustration churned in his gut, mixed with doubt. Was he overreacting? Seeing threats where there weren't any because he didn't understand grief the way his mother did?

Maybe.

But that look in Rony's eyes. That grip on her wrist. The way his thumb had pressed against her pulse point.

That hadn't felt like grief. That had felt like something else entirely.

Raj turned toward his own bedroom, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards. He reached his door and paused, hand on the knob, looking back toward his mother's room.

Everything was silent now. The house had settled into late-night quiet.

Raj entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. He should feel better. His mother was safely in her room. Rony was downstairs in his corner. Nothing bad had happened.

So why did he still feel like something was fundamentally wrong?

He moved to the window and looked out at the dark garden below, his reflection a ghost in the glass. His jaw was still clenched. His shoulders were tight with tension that wouldn't release.

Tomorrow he'd try again. Try to make his mother see what he was seeing. Try to make her understand that grief didn't excuse everything.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't work. Sri had made up her mind. She'd decided Rony was a grieving child who needed maternal comfort, and nothing Raj said would convince her otherwise.

He changed into his sleep clothes mechanically, going through the motions without really thinking about them. Brushed his teeth. Washed his face. Climbed into bed.

But sleep felt impossible. His mind kept replaying the scene downstairs. His mother on the floor. Rony's hand wrapped around her wrist. That intense stare.

Raj lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around him.

Downstairs, in the darkened living room, Rony sat in his corner.

His forehead was no longer pressed against his knees. His head had lifted slightly, tilted at an angle that allowed him to hear better.

The house was quiet enough that sounds carried. Especially angry whispers in the upstairs hallway. Especially when two people were trying very hard to argue without waking anyone else.

Rony had heard every word.

Every accusation from Sri. Every defensive response from Raj. Every bit of the conflict playing out above his head.

His lips curved upward. Just slightly. Just enough to change the shape of his mouth from neutral to something else.

A smile.

Small. Controlled. But unmistakably there.

In the darkness of the living room, with no one watching, Rony allowed himself this moment. This small victory.

The smile widened.