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Shivaay stroked Annika's hair, smiling as she unconsciously leaned into his touch. He sighed.

The room was dark except for the soft moonlight filtering through the translucent curtains adorning the windows. He wiped the tears that have fallen with his other hand. He turned over his back to look at the dark ceiling.

His life was a blank canvas.

He blinked away the tears but a few escaped his eyes, trailing down his skin before disappearing into his hair.

The first artists were his parents.

Seven year old Shivaay peeked into the room, his father was reading some documents. He held the chess board close before hesitantly knocking at the door.

Shakti looked up from his papers, "Shivaay?" He took it as a sign to move inside his parents bedroom. He looked at his father hopefully, it was Saturday, a weekend. His father had promised him that they would spend some time together, he had been waiting for the whole week for this day. But Shakti didn't come to his room, so he decided to take the matter into his own little hands.

"You will play chess with me, right?" Shivaay asked hopefully. Shakti sighed and his apologetic eyes turned to his little kid. "I'm sorry, son. But I have some urgent matters to look through." He patted his hair. But it didn't soothe the dull ache in his chest. It has been three months that he has spent any proper time with his father.

"But you promi——it's okay dad." He spoke softly and he walked away, he turned to look back at his father, who was again immersed in the papers that he was holding in his hands. He knew better than to pester his father.

He has always craved the affection from his father. Those proud looks, those affectionate pats on the head. But what he desired the most was his attention.

Shivaay turned away so that his tears won't be visible, even in the dark.

"Shivaay?" He looked up from his book that he had been reading to the baby Rudra, Om was sitting beside him leaning on his elbows as he listened to each and every word of the story that Shivaay narrated attentively. His mother was standing at the end of the room with a stern look on her face.

With an inquisitive glance he hopped off the bed, Om looked up the picture book that Shivaay had been reading from and waited for his brother to come back and continue the story.

"You have your maths competitions tomorrow and what are you doing here?" And the stern look from her mother had made him shudder. "Go back to your room and study for it. I will have your dinner sent up there."

He looked back at his brother regretfully as the three year old Om called out to him. He wanted to go back to them and read all the stories they wanted but he couldn't fight his mother's expectations and restrictions off him.

Shivaay breathed through his mouth, to stop the hiccups that were threatening to take over. He didn't want to disturb Annika.

His parents painted his world monochromatic with their strokes of expectations and restrictions.

The next one was his dadi.

Shivaay remembered the day very well. He was twelve.