Silent Whispers

Chapter 29: Blood Brothers

They said a brother was nothing less than a superhero, a thousand blessings all magically rolled into one. But Akash knew, as early as age thirteen, that blessings were like fairy tales, told to please, but not to believe.

Just like his brother.

Growing up in an affluent family, Akash learned very quickly what status and power could buy.  Growing up as the youngest son of an aspiring father and a doting mother, however, taught him something else entirely.

He was perhaps ten when it happened, or maybe even younger. He had run home from his school, carrying a palm-sized trophy for coming third in a local pottery competition. He could barely contain his excitement as he rushed inside their ancestral haveli in Lucknow, looking for his mother. Back then she was the only one who he could count on to appreciate his achievements, no matter how insignificant they were.

After almost half-an-hour of searching he finally found her in the drawing room, standing next his father, gleaming at the trophy –almost as tall as him- Arnav had received for winning a state-level mathematic championship. It would be an understatement if you said Akash was disappointed.

The years that followed that incident were no better. Far from impressing his parents, Akash couldn't even save them from embarrassment. By the time he was a teenager, he gathered what life as a Raizada meant. It meant being clever, distinguished and not to mention, classy. Everything that defined the mere form of Arnav and nothing he could ever even hope of attaining.

He was emotional, foolish and utterly ordinary; so ordinary that his father, the ever so successful Alok Singh Raizada, ignored him, pushing him away from everything that was family. That was the first time Akash picked up a paintbrush and he was yet to set it back down.

"Bhaiyya?" called the voice of Om Prakash, the family's most loyal servant. "Should I call Anjali Didi?"

Akash snapped out of his reverie. After two long months in Jaipur, he was finally back in Delhi. He had just stepped inside Shantivaan when he was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Even with its humongous size and expensive furniture,the mansion was his home and he had missed it dearly. 

"No," Akash answered. "I will go see her myself."

Dismissing the obedient servant, he crept up to the second floor, taking in the fresh Sunday morning breeze wafting through the open windows. He was just about to turn the corner and enter Anjali's room, when he noticed the doors to Arnav's study, a vast and strictly out-of-bounds room, wide open.

"Bhai?" Akash called, peeking inside. As a general rule, neither he nor Anjali were allowed inside without Arnav's permission.

Upon hearing no reply, however, he made a split decision to enter, confident that his brother wouldn't murder him, especially on his first day back. Just as he stepped inside, however, a gust of wind blew through the wall-sized window unsettling many loose papers on the desk.

Akash rushed forward, slamming his hand on the ruffled papers when he noticed a familiar face staring back at him from the stack he was pinning to the desk. Curious, he pulled out the photo to realize that it belonged to an article from the New Delhi Times. The face was none other than Khushi's, dressed almost unrecognizably in a coral-colored gown.

What shocked him more than seeing his girlfriend on the front page of the local newspaper, however, was the arm around her petite waist. It was Arnav's, who also was dressed elegantly in a black tuxedo. The heading read: Love and scandal; ASR never fails to stun the city.

Dread cold as ice began to freeze his veins. Something was wrong, very wrong. Akash could feel it in the air as he began to read the article, knowing that he would probably regret every word of it. But he did it anyway, because if there was anything in the world worse than knowing the truth, it was not knowing it.