u/QuestionBankChaos

The house looked like it was waiting for a celebration.

Every corner was adorned with lights and flowers, glowing with warmth and hope. It felt alive, as if it was ready to witness laughter, music, and joy. But beneath that beauty lingered an unsettling question.

Was it ready to witness a farewell instead?

Was it ready to hold the silent cries, the trembling hands, and the breaking hearts of those who were about to let go?

Sometimes, life does not ask what we want. It simply demands what must be done.

A middle-aged couple stood near the entrance, exchanging quiet words that carried more worry than meaning. Their faces betrayed them. Fear sat heavy in their eyes.

Then he walked in.

A 25-year-old young man with a calm smile, the kind that made everything seem okay. But that smile was a carefully built illusion. Behind it lived wounds no one could see.

Atharva stepped forward and bent to touch his parent's feet.

The moment his mother saw him, her composure shattered.

“Atharva… take care of yourself,” Vijayalakshmi said, her voice trembling. “We never wanted you to go so far away. But you chose this. Just… don’t let our past repeat itself. We barely survived it once.”

She held his face as if trying to memorize it.

“If anything feels wrong, come back immediately. Promise me. And don’t skip your meals. You never take care of yourself.”

Her voice broke. Tears followed.

Atharva gently held her hands.

“Maa… look at me,” he said softly. “Nothing is going to happen. I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone. Just a few years. That’s all. Trust me.”

But trust was fragile when fear had history.

Around them, people gathered, trying to comfort Vijayalakshmi. In that moment of chaos, no one noticed her.

A girl stood in the corner.

Silent. Still.

Her eyes were fixed on Atharva, filled with pain she could not speak. Akanksha.

Atharva saw her.

For a second, time froze.

He remembered the girl who laughed without reason, who filled rooms with life. But the girl standing before him now was a shadow of that memory.

He walked up to her slowly.

“I miss you,” he whispered, placing his hand gently on her head. “And I know you’re still in there somewhere.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’ll bring you back,” he continued, his voice firmer now. “Whatever it takes. When I return, I want to see my sister again. Not this silence.”

A faint flicker passed through her eyes.

Hope. Or pain.

Maybe both.

Before the moment could settle, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“We’re getting late.”

All eyes turned.

Advik entered, holding a file, his steps quick, his face tense.

“I don’t want Atharva to miss his flight. We should leave now.”

Atharva frowned slightly. “We still have time. Why the rush?”

Advik’s tone hardened. “Airports don’t wait. Procedures take time. Let’s not risk it.”

The room fell quiet again.

Goodbyes followed. Forced smiles. Unfinished words. Heavy hearts.

Vijayalakshmi and Devansh couldn’t go to the airport. Akanksha needed them.

So Atharva left.

With Advik.

The car moved forward, leaving behind a house full of emotions that refused to settle.

For a while, silence sat between them.

Then Advik spoke.

“You’ll struggle at first,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “New place, new people. But you’ll adjust. Just don’t forget who you are… and don’t forget us.”

Atharva let out a quiet chuckle.
“It’s just a few years, Advik.”

Advik nodded slightly.
“I know. Still… it won’t feel the same without you around.”

Atharva turned his gaze toward the window, the faint smile still on his lips.
“Hmm.”

A brief silence followed.

Then, almost casually, he said,

We’re not going to the airport.”

The car screeched to a halt.

Advik turned to him, stunned.
“What did you just say?”

Atharva didn’t look at him.

“Drive to Mumbai.”

“Atharva, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

A long silence followed.

Then it broke.

“What are you thinking?” Advik’s voice rose. “You got a chance people dream of. Your family is holding onto that hope. And you want to throw it away?”

Atharva’s eyes darkened.

“Hope?” he repeated. “You call this hope?”

His voice changed. Colder. Deeper.

“Do you remember what they did to us? Or have you conveniently moved on?”

Advik didn’t respond.

“They destroyed us,” Atharva continued. “Not by accident. Not by mistake. For their entertainment.”

His fists clenched.

“And now they’re living peacefully. Laughing. Celebrating. While my family is still trying to breathe.”

Advik’s expression softened, but his voice remained firm.

“And you think revenge will fix that?”

“It won’t fix anything,” Atharva said. “But it will make things equal.”

“That’s not how life works.”

“That’s exactly how it works.”

Advik shook his head. “No. That’s how people destroy themselves.”

Atharva smiled.

But this time, there was nothing warm about it.

“Then maybe destruction is necessary.”

“Atharva–”

“If something happens to me,” he interrupted, his tone suddenly dangerous, “my family will break. I know that.”

Advik froze.

“But if nothing happens,” Atharva continued, leaning back calmly, “they will keep suffering anyway.”

Silence swallowed the car.

“And you?” Advik asked quietly. “What happens to you after this?”

Atharva looked straight ahead.

For the first time, his mask dropped completely.

“I stopped thinking about myself a long time ago.”

Advik exhaled slowly. “Don’t do this.”

Atharva turned to him, eyes steady, unshaken.

“And don’t tell them,” he said. “Because if you do… you won’t be seeing me alive again.”

The weight of those words lingered.

Heavy. Final.

Advik didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Atharva leaned back, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Then he opened them.

And in that moment, something had changed.

Something irreversible.

He looked ahead, a faint, chilling smile forming on his lips.

“THE GAME OF REVENGE BEGINS NOW.”