Chapter 10: The Weight of Silence

Raj’s world felt like it was moving underwater. Every step he took down the hallway after breakfast was slow, deliberate, as if the air itself was thick and resisting him. He kept his eyes on the pattern of the carpet, not daring to look at the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. The echo of his own heartbeat seemed louder than anything else, a steady drum in his ears that drowned out the distant clatter of dishes and the murmur of Rony’s voice in the kitchen.

He didn’t go back to his room right away. Instead, he lingered near the living room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He tried to make sense of what had just happened. His mother, Sri, hadn’t even looked at him when she deleted the recording. She hadn’t asked him any questions. She hadn’t tried to hear him out, not even for a second. Instead, she’d acted as if he’d done something unforgivable—like he was the one who’d crossed the line, not Rony.

He glanced toward the kitchen. Sri was washing the breakfast dishes, her back straight, her movements brisk, almost mechanical. Rony was sitting at the breakfast table, scrolling through his phone, but every so often his eyes flicked up to Sri. There was something in the way he watched her—a possessiveness that made Raj’s skin crawl. Rony caught Raj looking and gave him a slow, smug grin, as if daring him to say something. Raj looked away, jaw clenched.

Inside, Raj was a mess of anger and fear and confusion. He wanted to shout at his mother, to make her see the truth, but the words stuck in his throat. He remembered the look on her face when she’d seen the recording playing—the way her hands had gone to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and then, almost instantly, with hurt. She hadn’t looked at Raj. She hadn’t looked at him at all.

He moved quietly to the kitchen doorway and paused. Sri was still at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water. Rony was watching her, his gaze lingering on her hips as she bent forward to rinse a plate.

“Mom,” Raj said softly, trying to keep his voice even, “can we talk for a minute? Just you and me?”

Sri didn’t turn around. “No, Raj. I already told you. There’s nothing to talk about. You did something wrong.”

Raj’s fists clenched at his sides. “But I just wanted you to hear it. To know what’s happening.”

Sri finally turned, her expression cold. “I know what’s happening. You’re not a child anymore, Raj. You can’t keep interfering in things that don’t concern you.” Her voice was low, sharp. “Rony needs me right now. That’s all that matters.”

Raj opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Rony cut in from the table. “See, I told you, Mom. He can’t handle it. He’s jealous because you care about me more.” Rony’s voice was sweet, but there was a bite to it, a challenge. He didn’t bother lowering his voice.

Raj’s chest burned. “I’m not jealous. I’m trying to help. You’re being manipulated, Mom.”

Sri’s knuckles whitened on the dish. “That’s enough. Both of you. Raj, go to your room. Rony, stop antagonizing him.”

Rony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Raj stared at his mother for a long moment, searching her face for any sign of recognition, any flicker of doubt. But her eyes were hard, distant. He turned away, the weight in his chest heavier than ever.

He retreated to his room and slammed the door behind him, not caring if it was too loud. Inside, the room felt smaller, suffocating. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, breathing hard. The events from the morning replayed in his mind like a loop—Sri’s face as she deleted the recording, the way Rony had looked at her, the threat hanging in the air.

What do I do now? he thought. I can’t prove anything. Mom won’t listen. And Rony’s got her wrapped around his finger. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how helpless he was. He wanted to protect his mother, but every move he made just made things worse.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at it. The file was gone. He’d lost the only proof he had. But he remembered every second of that recording. The heavy, desperate breathing. The wet, unmistakable sound of a grown man feeding at his mother’s body. He could still hear it in his head, loud and clear. He closed his eyes, trying to push the memory away, but it stuck with him—vivid, grotesque, impossible to ignore.

A few minutes passed. He could hear movement in the hallway—Sri’s footsteps, then Rony’s. Their voices drifted under the door. Rony was saying something in a low tone, and Sri was answering, her voice softer than usual.

Raj pressed his ear to the door, straining to catch the words.

“…can I stay with Mom tonight?” Rony’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was clear enough.

Sri hesitated. “Only if you promise to behave yourself. No more… nonsense.”

“But I just want to feel safe. You understand, right?”

There was a pause. Raj could almost see the way Rony was looking up at her with those big, pleading eyes—the same eyes he’d used to trick her into letting him sleep in her room, into letting him touch her.

“Alright,” Sri said finally. “But you have to promise. No more of what happened this morning.”

“I promise, Mom.”

Raj’s stomach twisted. He knew what “promise” meant to Rony. It didn’t mean anything. It never did.

He got up and paced the room, the anger inside him bubbling, but he forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t let it get to him. Not now. He had to think. Had to plan.

But what could he do? He didn’t have proof anymore. His mother wouldn’t believe him. And if he tried to tell anyone else—if he told his father, or his uncle—would they even believe him? Or would they just think he was jealous, or lying, or trying to cause trouble?

He sat back down on the bed, feeling utterly alone. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks with his eyes, thinking about how quickly things had changed. Just a week ago, he’d been excited to come here, to meet his uncle, to see a new part of the city. Now, he felt trapped, like he was suffocating in a house that should have been a home.

He thought about calling someone—maybe a teacher, or the police—but the idea made him sick. What would he even say? That his cousin was having sex with his mother? That he’d secretly recorded them? No one would believe him. And if they did… what would happen to his family? To him? To Rony?

A knock came at his door. Raj froze. It was too soft to be his uncle. He glanced at the clock on his phone—only two in the afternoon. He didn’t answer.

The knock came again, a little firmer. “Raj,” Sri’s voice was muffled through the wood. “I’m sorry about this morning. But you have to stay in your room until I say otherwise. Please.”

He didn’t reply. He just sat there, staring at the door.

After a moment, the footsteps faded away. The house grew quiet again.

Hours dragged by. Raj tried to read, but the words blurred on the page. He tried to nap, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every so often, he’d hear sounds from the other side of the house—Sri moving around, the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of Rony’s voice. Sometimes, late in the afternoon, he heard the bathroom door close, the shower start, and he knew, with a sick feeling in his gut, that Rony was in there with his mother again.

He tried to convince himself that maybe they were just bathing together, that maybe Rony was just being a creep, but not crossing the line. But the memory of last night’s recording, the sounds he’d heard through the wall, wouldn’t let him believe that. He knew what he’d heard. He knew what was happening.

As evening fell, the house seemed to close in around him. The shadows stretched longer across the floor, and Raj felt like he was sinking deeper into the bed. He thought about sneaking out of his room, about trying to get to his mother somehow, but the threat Rony had made played over and over in his mind. If he tried anything, those photos would go straight to his father. And then what? No one would believe him. His family would fall apart.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of helplessness. He thought about how easy it had been for Rony to twist everything, to turn the situation around so completely that even his own mother didn’t believe him anymore.

What if I just leave? he wondered. What if I just sneak out tonight and never come back? But he knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t abandon his mother. Even if she wouldn’t listen to him, she was still his mother. And besides, where would he go? He had no money, no place to stay.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the world. But the house was too quiet. Too full of secrets.

Eventually, he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, then footsteps down the hall. Rony’s voice, low and soft, floated through the house. “Sri, I’m going to take a shower.”

Sri’s reply was gentle, almost too gentle. “Alright, beta. I’ll be in the living room.”

Raj heard the shower start. He listened to the rush of water, the hum of the fan. He imagined Sri sitting in the living room, waiting. Alone.

He wanted to call out to her, to scream at her to open her eyes, but he didn’t dare. He lay there, paralyzed.

After a while, he heard the shower shut off. Rony’s footsteps padded down the hallway, past Raj’s door. He paused for a second, then moved on, heading toward Sri’s room.

Raj’s heart pounded in his chest. He could hear the door open, the soft click of the lock. Then silence.

He waited, listening. The house felt like it was holding its breath.

After a few minutes, the sounds began: the creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets. Then the breathing—deep, slow, almost desperate. Raj recognized it immediately. He didn’t need to record it this time. He remembered every detail from last night. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling a mix of rage and sorrow and shame.

He thought about how easy it had been for Rony to take over his mother’s life, to push Raj out, to turn everything upside down with just a few well-placed words and a few well-timed tears.

He thought about what would happen when they left this house. Would his mother ever come to her senses? Would Rony stop? Or would this just keep going, hidden behind closed doors and locked bedroom doors?

He didn’t know. And right now, he didn’t have the strength to find out.

He pulled the blanket over his head, trying to drown out the sounds, but they seeped through the walls anyway. Heavy breathing. The wet, unmistakable noise he’d heard on the recording. The way his mother’s voice sometimes rose in a soft gasp, then fell back into the hush.

He lay there, trapped in the dark, feeling smaller and smaller until he was nothing at all.

Eventually, the noises faded. The house was quiet again. Raj stayed under the blanket, listening to the silence, wondering how long he could stay hidden like this. How long he could bear it.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but when he woke, the house was dark except for a sliver of moonlight under his door. He lay there for a long time, staring at the shadows, thinking about what he could do, what he should do, and coming up empty every time.

He knew, deep down, that nothing would change unless he did something drastic. But for now, he was too scared, too tired, too broken to move.

So he stayed there, in the dark, listening to the silence that pressed in around him, waiting for the morning to come, dreading the next night.

And outside his door, the world kept turning, unaware of the quiet disaster unfolding behind closed doors.