Heeriye

Twenty.

Sidharth

Yes!" I roar. "That's the way to do it!"

I've been training the kid again for two weeks now and he's picked up right where we left off. His right hook is really coming along. It kindles an old excitement, the same exhilarated sense of accomplishment that I felt in my early boxing days when I was still learning.

Back when Anang was my teacher.

Every now and then during our training sessions, I hear my brother's voice in my head and his words come out of my mouth.

I was the second son; I knew I would never be as important to the mafia as him, but it didn't matter. I just wanted to be important to him. And I knew I was, every time he took time out of his own training to come and spend a few hours in the gym with me. I adopted his boxing style. I copied his fighting techniques. I trained just as religiously as he did.

It wasn't about competing with him. It was about making him proud. I thought I had to earn it. It's not until this moment, with Jahan, that I realize how pointless my attempts were. I never had to try to earn Anang's love. He would have been proud of me either way.

"Good man. Let's take a break now." Jahan lowers his fists reluctantly. "I can go another round."

I can't help grinning. The kid's got both heart and determination. I pat his shoulder and gesture for him to take a seat on the benches. "You need to rest your body, too. No point overexerting yourself. Drink some water."

I toss him a bottle and grab one myself. I've had a few thoughts percolating in my head these past few days. The more time I spend with Jahan, the more impressed I am by him. He doesn't just have the makings of a leader; he's got the heart of a fighter, too. He may not have been born in mafia, but this child is mafia through and through.

Training him with that in mind might not be the worst thing to do. Of course, Shehnaaz would freak out. But I'm okay with that. Anything to make her pay. And I have been doing my best on that front.
It's a subtle kind of vengeance, though I've found in my life that subtlety is often overrated. I keep my distance from her more often than not and I make sure, when we do spend time together, that I don't do anything to disturb the kids.

It's when we are alone together that the gloves come off.

I make sure she knows just how pissed I am to be forced into a corner with her. I stare at my screen. I glower and snarl and keep my words to a growled minimum. I'm waiting for the day when I stop having to force myself to do all those things.

Because the truth is that I stare at my phone to avoid staring at her. I glower and growl because if I let her in even an inch, I'm going to lose the battle with myself. I'm going to take her back into my bed, my heart, my life, and if I do that, I risk going through what my father went through.

It doesn't help that she barely reacts to me anymore. She keeps her own feelings bottled up tight and out of reach. Even when I'm cruel to her, she doesn't react apart from a half-flinch or a fraction of a frown. Maybe she doesn't actually care. Maybe she's pretending, just like I am.

Either way, I find myself wanting to grab her and shake her.Wake up,I want to yell. Fight back.

"Sidharth?" Jahan asks, breaking through my tangled thoughts. "When are we going back to school?" I cringe. Shehnaaz brought up this same topic a few days back after the kids had been out of school for the third week in a row.

I concentrate on Jahan. "Soon. There's just one catch: you're not going back to the same school."

Jahan does a double-take. "Really?"

"Yeah. Does that sound okay to you?"

"Yeah. I never really liked the school we were in." He shrugs when he sees me arch a questioning brow. "I didn't wanna say anything because I didn't wanna make bua feel bad about it."

This kid...I don't know what the hell is wrong with his father. If I had a son like this, I'd scream it from the fucking rooftops.

"Well, I'm here now. You don't have to worry about things like money anymore. I'll take care of you and your sisters."

"Bua, too?" he asks tentatively.

"Of course," I say in as neutral a voice as possible. I have to dig my nails into my palm to keep from grimacing. "Why do we need to change schools, though?"

"I need to make sure you and your sisters are protected. This place I've chosen for you is safe."

"So... no one will be able to get to us? Even Dad?"

"Not even your father," I assure him. Jahan sighs. "Okay then."

I knew Jahan hated his father but this is the first time that I've detected a hint of fear. "Is there something you wanna tell me about your dad?"

"No." His answer comes a little too fast for my liking. "Jahan. You can tell me anything."

"I..." His cheeks flush with color and even his ears go red. "I... I feel bad."

"About what?"

He sneaks a quick glance at me and his ears only get redder. "I don't want you to hate me." I place a huge hand on his shoulder. "Listen carefully. There is absolutely nothing that would ever make me hate you. Trust me on that."

Jahan gulps. Then he fixes his gaze on the black leather heavy bag in the corner and starts talking. "He used to make me steal from Shehnaaz Bua. Take money out of her purse and stuff. When I refused, he would... Sometimes, he would h-hit m-me." He swallows again, his eyes shifting around the gym as though they don't know where to land.

And as for me? I'm talking myself calm.Breathe. Sit.Because if I don't win that internal battle, I'm gonna storm out of here, track down that useless fuck, and beat him until he's nothing but a bloodstain beneath my shoe.

This isn't the moment for that, though.

This is a moment for the boy.

"After a while, I stopped helping him, even when he hit me or pushed me around. But then he said he would do things to Ruhi and Chaya."

My vision goes red.

"I hated doing it," he continues. "I hated stealing from Shehnaaz Bua. She worked so hard and she trusted me. B-but... I—"

"You were trying to protect your sisters," I help him out. "There's no shame in that, Jahan. You have nothing to feel bad about. Not a goddamn thing, do you understand?"

"But... I did a bad thing. So many times."

"No—you did what you had to do to survive."Maybe Shehnaaz did, too. I push that thought away and focus on the tremulous eight-year-old. "Thanks for trusting me with this, kid. That takes courage."

He gives me a shy smile. "Thanks for training me. I know that you're busy. And that you're important. It means a lot that you... that you want to spend time with me."

For fuck's sake, is that a lump in my throat? I can't remember the last time I felt choked up with emotion. Not since Anang died.

"I'm really glad you and Bua are having a baby together," he adds.

I give him a shaky smile. For the first time in a long time, possibly in my entire life, I have no clue what to say.