Chapter 9: The Sound of Silence

Raj lay in the darkness of his room, the echo of the locked bedroom door still ringing in his ears. The house had gone almost completely quiet after his mother and Rony retreated behind that barrier. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with his eyes, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on him.

He didn’t sleep.

Every little noise from the hallway seemed magnified in the hush. The distant tick of the wall clock. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. His own breathing, loud in his ears. He listened for any sign of movement from the other side of the locked door.

But the silence was worse than the noise. It was thick, heavy, suffocating. He imagined what was happening on the other side—the way Rony had looked at his mother earlier that night, his eyes too bright, his voice trembling just a little too perfectly. The way Sri had softened, her hand lingering on his shoulder a moment too long. The way she’d let him choose which side of the bed he wanted, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Raj rolled over, staring at the small phone on his nightstand. Its screen was dark, but he could picture the apps lined up neatly, the one for the voice recorder sitting in the second slot from the top. He reached out, his fingers brushing the plastic case, and pulled it closer. The idea had been gnawing at him since he’d heard the lock click into place.

He needed proof. Not just for himself, but so his mother would see what was happening. She couldn’t believe him—she never would unless she had something solid to hold onto. And if he had proof, maybe, just maybe, she’d listen.

He sat up, careful not to make a sound. The floorboards creaked under his feet, but he moved slowly, testing each step. He crept to the door of his bedroom, pressing his ear against it. Nothing from the other side. Just the muffled silence of the house at midnight.

He inched down the hallway, his shadow stretching out in front of him. The hallway light was off, but a faint glow filtered from under Sri’s bedroom door—the only light in the house. He paused, heart thudding in his chest, and pressed his phone’s screen until it lit up. He opened the voice recorder app and hit record.

Now came the tricky part. He couldn’t just barge in or stand right outside and get caught. He had to be subtle. He knelt down, tucking himself into the shadow near the base of the door. He angled the phone’s microphone toward the gap underneath the door, as close as he could get without being seen. He put his finger over the record button to stop any accidental noises, then started recording.

He waited.

At first, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the fridge, the distant sound of a car passing outside. Raj’s own breathing was the loudest thing in the room.

But then, after a few minutes that felt like hours, he heard it.

A soft shuffle from inside. The rustle of bedsheets. Then the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing—slower than panic, deeper than sleep. Not quite the rhythm of someone just dozing off.

Raj’s throat tightened. He held his breath, listening harder. Then came another sound—something wet, muffled, almost like a faint, rhythmic sucking noise. It was brief, then paused. Then it started again, slightly louder now.

His stomach dropped.

He let the recorder run, heart pounding in his chest. He tried to convince himself he was just being paranoid, that it was all innocent. But he knew what he was hearing. He’d heard that sound before, in movies, in those late-night health class videos his school showed. It wasn’t something a mother and a nephew did while sleeping.

Minutes ticked by. The noises continued at intervals, interspersed with sighs and little gasps. Raj’s fingers trembled on the phone, but he kept recording. He couldn’t stop now. He needed enough to show his mother. Enough to make her see.

After nearly half an hour, the sounds faded into a quieter rhythm—steady breathing, the occasional shift of weight on the mattress. Raj waited a little longer, then stopped the recording. He checked the file: thirty-two minutes. More than enough.

He waited another ten minutes, just to be sure. Then, quietly, he slipped back to his room, careful not to make a sound. He locked his door from the inside, more out of habit than necessity. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, replaying the recording in his head before he actually listened.

He plugged in his earbuds and hit play.

The sounds were unmistakable. Heavy breathing. That wet, suckling noise. The occasional soft moan. Not the sounds of a child seeking comfort. Not the sounds of a mother soothing her nephew. Something else entirely.

Raj felt sick. Angry. Betrayed. He wanted to scream. To run down the hall and break the door down. But he knew that would only make things worse. Rony would use it against him. Sri would believe Rony, not him.

He needed to show this to his mother. He needed her to hear it for herself.

The next morning came slowly. The sun crept up behind the curtains, painting faint golden stripes across Raj’s bed. He hadn’t slept much, but he didn’t care. He was too wired, too full of dread and determination.

He waited until the house was awake. He could hear Sri moving around in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of Rony’s voice. They were both in good spirits, it seemed. Rony was probably playing the perfect grieving nephew, helping Sri with breakfast, sitting a little too close, maybe letting his hand linger on her arm as she set the table.

Raj took a deep breath, then walked out into the hallway. He found his mother in the kitchen, her back to him as she poured chai into two mugs. Rony sat at the breakfast table, swinging his legs under the chair, looking up at her with those big, puppy-dog eyes.

“Good morning, Mom,” Rony said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sri smiled back, a little too brightly. “Good morning, beta. Did you sleep well?”

Rony nodded, his gaze flickering for a second to Raj, who stood just inside the doorway. “Yeah. I slept great. Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

Sri’s cheeks colored a little. She looked at Raj, her expression a mixture of affection and warning. “Raj, you can sit down too. We’re having paratha and chai.”

Raj nodded, moving to the table but keeping his eyes on his plate. He couldn’t look at either of them. Not yet.

Breakfast was quiet. Rony kept glancing at Raj, a little too eagerly, as if waiting for him to say something he could twist. Sri tried to keep the conversation light, asking about the weather, about how Rony was feeling. But the tension was thick enough to cut with a spoon.

Finally, Raj couldn’t take it anymore. He set his mug down with a soft clink and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, opened the voice recorder, and swiped to the file he’d recorded last night. He pressed play.

The first sound that came out was the breathing. Then the suckling. Then the little gasps and sighs. The audio was clear enough, even through the phone’s mic. There was no mistaking it.

Sri’s face drained of color. Her hands went to her mouth. “Raj, what is this? Why are you playing this?”

Raj’s voice came out shaky. “That’s from last night. From your bedroom. You and… Rony.”

Rony’s face twisted in anger. He shot to his feet, chair scraping back. “What the hell, Raj? Are you spying on us? That’s not right!”

Sri stood up too, her voice sharp. “Stop it, both of you! Raj, turn that off right now!”

Raj hesitated. He looked at his mother, pleading with his eyes. “Mom, please. Just listen. You need to hear this.”

But Sri was already moving. She grabbed his phone from his hand and tapped the screen, stopping the recording. Then, with quick, precise movements, she opened the file manager and deleted the recording. Raj watched in horror as the file vanished from the list.

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “Mom, don’t—”

But she wasn’t listening. She handed the phone back to him, her face tight with anger. “That’s enough, Raj. I don’t want to hear any more of this. I don’t want to see any more of this. This is none of your business. Rony is my son now. And I decide what happens in my own room.”

Rony smirked, sitting back down, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the table. “You shouldn’t have done that, Raj. Now you’ve really crossed the line.”

Sri glared at Raj. “Go to your room. Don’t come out until I tell you. And don’t ever do something like this again.”

Raj felt like he was going to explode. He wanted to shout. To grab the phone back. To scream at his mother until she understood. But what would that change? Rony would just use it against him. He’d send those photos to his father, or worse.

Instead, he stood, his legs heavy, and walked back to his room. Behind him, he heard Rony’s low voice, barely audible but sharp as a knife.

“If you ever try to mess with me or my mom again, I’ll send those pictures to your dad. I swear I will. You’re not going to ruin my life, Raj.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Raj leaned against it, breathing hard, mind spinning. The evidence was gone. His mother wouldn’t believe him. Rony had made his threat.

And there was nothing he could do.