Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Raj stood alone in the hallway outside his dead aunt's bedroom, staring at his cousin's closed door. The lock had clicked moments ago. That soft, final sound that meant Rony was safe behind wood and metal, untouchable, protected.

The whistling had stopped.

Raj's breathing came in shallow bursts. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Everything Rony had said played on repeat in his mind—the casual confession about blackmail, the smug satisfaction in his voice, the way he'd shown those photos like they were trophies.

Insurance. That's what Rony had called them. Insurance against his mother ever abandoning him.

The rage that had been building for days finally found its breaking point.

Raj's feet moved before his brain caught up. He crossed the hallway in three quick steps and slammed his fist against Rony's bedroom door.

"Open this door!"

Nothing. Just silence from the other side.

Raj hit the door again, harder this time. The wood rattled in its frame but held firm. "I said open the fucking door!"

Still nothing. But Raj could sense movement inside. Could imagine Rony sitting on his bed with that goddamn phone, scrolling through photos of his mother, probably smiling.

The thought of those images existing—of them being backed up somewhere, sent to Rony's email or cloud storage or wherever else he'd hidden them—made Raj's vision blur red at the edges.

He took a step back. His shoulder dropped. His whole body tensed.

Then he charged.

His shoulder connected with the door just below the lock. Pain exploded through his joint but the door held. The frame creaked but didn't give.

Raj backed up and charged again.

This time something cracked. The wood around the lock splintered slightly. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

"What are you doing?" Rony's voice came through the door, muffled but audible. "Raj, stop!"

Raj didn't stop. He backed up further this time, got a running start, and slammed his full weight into the door.

The crack widened. The frame buckled. Metal scraped against wood as the lock started tearing free from its housing.

One more hit. That's all it would take.

Raj backed all the way to the opposite wall, every muscle coiled tight, and launched himself forward with everything he had.

His shoulder connected with a bone-jarring impact.

The lock tore completely free. Wood splintered with a sharp crack that echoed down the hallway. The door burst inward, swinging hard on its hinges and slamming against the interior wall.

Raj stumbled into the room, his momentum carrying him forward several steps before he caught his balance. His shoulder screamed in pain but he barely noticed. His eyes locked immediately on Rony.

His cousin had jumped back from the bed where he'd been lying. The phone was still clutched in his right hand. His eyes were wide, genuinely startled for once instead of performing some calculated emotion.

Rony scrambled to his feet, backing toward the far wall. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Delete them." Raj's voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable. "Delete every single photo. Right now."

Rony's back hit the wall. His fingers tightened around the phone. "No."

"I'm not asking." Raj advanced across the room, closing the distance between them. "Delete the fucking photos, Rony. All of them."

"Or what?" Rony's initial surprise was already fading, replaced by that cold calculation Raj had come to recognize. "You'll beat me up? Break my phone? That'll really make your mother sympathize with you."

Raj's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to grab that phone, to smash it against the wall, to make sure those images were destroyed permanently. His whole body shook with the desire for action, for violence, for something that would end this nightmare.

"Give me the phone."

"No." Rony's thumb moved across the screen. His expression shifted from defensive to something darker. Something that looked almost amused. "Actually, let me show you something first."

He tapped and swiped, navigating through menus with practiced ease. The screen's glow illuminated his face as he pulled up the photo gallery.

Raj could see thumbnails of images. Lots of them. Dozens, maybe more. All from tonight's photo session in his mother's blue saree.

Rony selected several with quick taps. His expression remained neutral, almost clinical, as he chose the most compromising shots. The ones from the bed. The ones where he was pressed against Sri's side with his arm around her waist. The ones that looked intimate no matter how much context you provided.

"These are my favorites," Rony said quietly. "They really capture our special bond, don't you think?"

He held the phone up so Raj could see the screen clearly. The selected images were queued up in some kind of message draft. At the top of the screen, Raj could see a contact name.

His father's name.

His father's phone number.

The message was already composed. Just a few words: "Thought you should see how close Aunt Sri and I have become."

All those photos attached. Ready to send.

Raj's blood turned to ice.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." Rony's thumb hovered over the send button. The screen showed it clearly—one tap and those photos would be gone, transmitted across the internet to Raj's father's phone. Irretrievable. Permanent.

"One more step forward," Rony said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Just one. And I send everything. Your father gets to see exactly how motherly his wife has been to me. How she wore my dead mother's saree. How she lay on my bed with me. How close we've become."

Raj froze mid-step. His right foot was raised, weight shifted forward, body committed to advancing toward his cousin. But now he couldn't move. Couldn't complete the motion. Couldn't do anything but stand there, balanced impossibly between forward momentum and paralyzed stillness.

His fists remained clenched at his sides. Every muscle in his body screamed to keep moving, to grab the phone, to end this.

But he couldn't. Because Rony's thumb was right there, positioned over the send button. One reflexive tap—just a single motion that would take a fraction of a second—and everything would be destroyed. His parents' marriage. His mother's reputation. Her relationship with his father.

Rony had won. Again.

The knowledge of it sat in Raj's chest like a stone. He was completely, utterly trapped. Any sudden movement would be met with instant retaliation. Any attempt to grab the phone would result in Rony tapping send either deliberately or accidentally. Even if Raj managed to physically overpower his cousin and destroy the phone, it wouldn't matter. The photos were already backed up. Already sent to Rony's email or cloud storage or whatever other accounts he'd mentioned.

This was just theater. A demonstration of power. A reminder of who controlled the situation.

Raj lowered his raised foot slowly, carefully, setting it back down where it had started. He didn't advance. Didn't retreat. Just stood there in the middle of Rony's bedroom, fists clenched uselessly, while his cousin held his mother's future hostage with a single thumb.

"Smart choice," Rony said. He didn't lower the phone though. Kept it held up between them like a shield. "I was worried you'd be stupid. Worried you'd make me actually do it."

"You're sick."

"I'm careful. There's a difference." Rony's eyes stayed locked on Raj's, watching for any sign of movement. "This isn't about being cruel, Raj. It's about protecting what I need. Your mother gives me something I can't get anywhere else. Comfort. Affection. Maternal love. And I'm not going to let you or anyone else take that away from me."

"She's not your mother."

"She agreed to be. She said the words. She let me call her mother. She's been more of a mother to me in the past few days than most kids get in a lifetime." Rony's expression didn't change. "And if ensuring she continues being my mother requires keeping a few photos as insurance, then that's what I'll do."

A sound came from down the hall. Footsteps. Quick and purposeful.

Both boys' heads turned toward the broken doorway.

"What was that noise?" Sri's voice carried from somewhere near her bedroom. "What's going on?"

The footsteps grew louder. Faster. She was coming to investigate.

Raj's heart hammered against his ribs. His mother couldn't see this. Couldn't walk in and find him standing over Rony with the bedroom door smashed open. It would confirm every negative thing she believed about his jealousy and aggression.

But he couldn't move. Couldn't step back or retreat or do anything that might make Rony tap that send button out of spite.

Rony's expression shifted instantly. The cold calculation vanished, replaced by wide-eyed fear that looked disturbingly genuine. His body language changed completely—shoulders hunching, phone clutching to his chest protectively, free hand coming up in a defensive gesture.

Sri appeared in the broken doorway.

She stopped dead, taking in the scene. Her eyes went from the splintered door frame to Raj's aggressive stance to Rony pressed against the far wall. Her face flushed with alarm.

"What is happening here?" Her voice came out sharp. Demanding. "What did you do?"

She was looking at Raj when she said it.

Rony's eyes immediately filled with tears. The transformation was instant and complete. One second he'd been cold and calculating, holding blackmail over Raj's head. The next he was a terrified child, cornered and vulnerable.

He staggered backward against the wall even though Raj hadn't moved. His free hand trembled as he pointed at Raj accusingly.

"He broke down my door." Rony's voice cracked perfectly, sobs already building in his throat. "He—he attacked me, Aunt Sri. He broke into my room and tried to hurt me."

"I didn't touch you," Raj said, but his voice came out weak. Defensive. Even to his own ears it sounded like a lie.

Rony's tears spilled over, running down his cheeks. "He was yelling at me. Demanding I delete the photos. The precious photos of you in my mother's saree. The only comfort I have left of her memory. He wants to take that away from me. He wants to destroy the only thing that helps me feel close to her."

Sri's expression transformed. Confusion gave way to fury as she looked at her son.

"You broke his door? You attacked him over photographs?"

"Mom, it's not—"

"Those photos are all he has!" Sri's voice rose. "They're memories. Comfort. And you tried to destroy them because of your jealousy?"

"That's not what this is about." Raj knew he was losing but couldn't stop himself from trying. "You don't understand what he's—"

"I understand perfectly." Sri stepped fully into the room, positioning herself between Raj and Rony. Protecting the wrong person. "You can't stand that I'm giving him maternal affection. Can't stand that someone else needs me. So you break down doors and threaten him?"

Rony unlocked his phone with shaking fingers. He held it up, screen facing Sri, carefully angling it so Raj couldn't see what he was showing her.

"These are the photos he wanted to destroy," Rony said through manufactured sobs. "The ones from the hallway. When you were standing by the window in my mother's saree. He said they were disgusting. Said I was disgusting for wanting to remember my mother through you."

The screen showed only the innocent photos. The standing poses. The shots by the window where Sri looked beautiful in the blue saree but nothing compromising was visible. Nothing inappropriate.

Rony kept the intimate photos hidden. The ones from the bed. The ones that showed them pressed together. Those stayed safely out of Sri's view while he presented his carefully curated selection of innocent memories.

"Look at them," Rony urged, his voice breaking. "Tell me what's wrong with these. Tell me what's so disgusting about wanting to remember my dead mother."

Sri looked at the screen. Her expression softened as she scrolled through the displayed images. They were beautiful, actually. Tasteful. The lighting was good. The composition was nice. She looked maternal and kind, exactly like someone honoring a dead woman's memory by wearing her saree and comforting her grieving son.

"There's nothing wrong with these," Sri said quietly. Then her voice hardened as she turned back to Raj. "Nothing at all."

"He's not showing you all of them," Raj said desperately. "There are others. From the bedroom. On the bed. He took photos of you lying down with him and—"

"And what?" Sri's eyes flashed. "We recreated moments he remembers with his mother. Innocent moments of comfort and safety. You're the one making them into something dirty."

"I'm not making them into anything. He is." Raj gestured at Rony, who was still crying against the wall. "He's manipulating you. Using those photos to—"

"Enough!" Sri's voice cracked like a whip. "I have had enough of your accusations. Enough of your jealousy. Enough of your violence."

She stepped toward Raj, her face flushed with anger. "You will pack your belongings. Right now. And you will leave this house."

Raj felt the words like a physical blow. "What?"

"You heard me. Pack your things and go. I don't know where—find a hotel, call your father, figure it out. But you are not staying here another night."

"Mom—"

"I will remain with Rony until he's emotionally stable." Sri's voice was firm, final. "Until I'm certain he's going to be alright. And you can explain your violent behavior to your father when you get home. Explain why you thought it was acceptable to break down doors and terrorize a grieving child."

Rony's quiet sniffles provided perfect accompaniment to her words. He was still holding his phone, still pressed against the wall, still looking like the victim of unprovoked aggression.

Raj wanted to scream. Wanted to grab his mother by the shoulders and shake her until she saw what was right in front of her face. Wanted to tell her about the blackmail, about the backup photos, about the message draft with his father's name on it.

But he couldn't. Because any of those revelations would prompt Rony to send those photos. Would prompt a conversation where Sri would have to explain to her husband why she'd been photographed lying on a bed with her teenage nephew pressed against her side.

Rony had engineered the perfect trap. Raj couldn't expose him without destroying his mother. Couldn't fight back without giving Rony exactly the justification he needed to either send the photos or extract even more from Sri's sympathy.

"Go," Sri said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. "Pack your things, Raj. I don't want to see you right now."

Raj looked at Rony one more time. His cousin's eyes met his over Sri's shoulder. The tears were still flowing, but behind them Raj could see satisfaction. Victory.

Rony had won. Completely. Absolutely. He'd maneuvered Raj into attacking him, had documented everything he needed for leverage, and had now gotten Raj removed from the house entirely.

Nothing stood between Rony and Sri anymore. No interference. No witnesses. No one to question what happened behind closed doors.

Raj turned without another word. He walked out of Rony's bedroom, past the splintered door frame, and down the hallway toward his own room. His legs felt numb. His mind felt blank.

Behind him, he could hear Sri's voice, soft and soothing, already comforting Rony.

"It's alright. He won't hurt you again. I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Rony's sniffles continued, quieter now. "Thank you, Aunt Sri. Thank you for protecting me."

"I'll always protect you. Always."

Raj reached his bedroom and closed the door behind him. The space felt small suddenly. Confining. He stood in the center of the room, staring at his suitcase in the corner, and tried to make his brain work.

He should pack. Should call his father. Should leave like his mother ordered.

But his body wouldn't move. He just stood there, listening to the voices carry down the hallway from Rony's room.

Sri's soothing tone. Rony's grateful responses. The sound of her promising to stay with him, to keep him safe, to never let anyone come between them again.

Raj sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress creaked under his weight.

Down the hall, Sri's voice continued, gentle and reassuring as she comforted the boy who'd just successfully removed the last obstacle to complete access to her trust and affection.