Still Holding Them

7 years ago........

23 January, 2 a.m.

Sh—shut up, Akash. Don’t say you’re writing another personal traumatic essay.
Why? I’m always here. Just tell me how your day was.

Why do u keep bleeding words? Why are u sharing your wounds like content?

For people who don’t even know you.
You write all this because it makes you feel important there.
But it’s not, Akashhhh.

Akash—look at me. I’m here. Talk to me.

Look through my eyes so you can see your reflection.

How dull. How pale you look.

This isn’t the person I live with.

This isn’t how the man I love is supposed to look.

---

I’m tired of fighting with u every day. At least at night, stop. Go sleep in your bed. I brought you flowers and chocolate and you’re still arguing. I need to sleep. I’ve been awake for two days.

And I know this isn’t about writing. You’re insecure because people connect with me there. Yesterday you tried to look through my laptop when I was talking to someone.

You live with me all day, and you’re still jealous. Still possessive.

Sleep. pls Leme me sleep.

---

You think flowers make you noble? This is not how you say sorry. This is decoration of bad behavior.
I’m not insecure. I’m not jealous. You’re afraid because I can see clearer than anyone else.

You’re a misogynist pretending. You think women shouldn’t ride a scooty, shouldn’t drive. You’re afraid of everything. One day even your sister will feel this. I remember when she talked to that guy and how you reacted. Fear. Control.

(grandfather coughs from the ground floor.)

Aaa… ree… khh… you still fighting?

---

Hell, don’t be personal. Never bring my sister into your gibberish arguments.

And yes, I’m scared when she talks to boys. I’ve seen this in my school. Any time a girl is kind, boys think she loves them. They propose, and if she rejects them, that kindness turns into cruelty. The whole class starts calling her that R word when she walks into the corridor. When she sits, they whisper. They’re monsters. She’s still immature. Why shouldn’t I be afraid?

And about you—if flowers and chocolate mean nothing to you, then how do I show effort? Only emotions? Only words? That’s not enough for you, right?

And yeah, I don’t want you to learn scooty or bike. I’m afraid for your safety. This is not misogyny. Please understand that.

( grand father from the ground floor )

Keeh—ahh— enough now. You both stop, or I’ll come upstairs

---

Akash Safety? This is what you call safety?
You don’t want me safe. You want me dominated.

You’re not scared of bikes or riding. You’re scared because I might have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. You saw monsters in school, so now you want to cage everyone you love. That’s not protection. That’s control dressed as care.

flowers and chocolate are props. You think effort is buying things? Effort is trust. Effort is not treating me like a risk you have to manage.

And don’t pretend this isn’t misogyny. You decide what I should learn, where I should go, how I should exist, and then call it love. That’s not love. That’s fear with a god complex.

( grand father coming)

Keeh—ahh—khh—

The stairs creak. He’s coming up.

“Aaa… ree… still fighting?”

Another cough.
Enough now. Both of you. Sleep

(Grandfather stood at the gate, where he could see both of them arguing.

---

Why should I listen to you, grandfather, when you both never listened to me?

I asked her to stop driving. I begged you to stop drinking. You both smiled, said yes, and kept doing it.

What am I supposed to do? Cry? Fight? Pretend I’m fine?

No. I feel helpless.

Do you know how it feels when the people you love are slowly killing you just by not listening, and you still don’t want to lose them?

You both are killing me like parasites eating me from inside, and I’m still here loving you.

Why am I crying? Why am I sobbing like this?

It feels like I’m arguing alone in this room.

And grandfather—please stop drinking.

I want you to see me in college.

In debates.

In courtrooms where I win and you laugh and say, “This is my grandson.”

I want your wisdom, your stories at night.

Please leave this alcohol.

Please.

The room felt tense. The three of them stood at equal distance, seeing each other clearly. Air moved through the open window. Then the grandfather began to speak.

---

I love you, my son. This alcohol won’t kill me. I’ll live as long as I want. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “And you two stop fighting. I can’t sleep because of your voices. Akash, you haven’t slept for days. Go and sleep.”

He finished his words, and then he fell.

The sound of his body hitting the ground cracked through the room. My body froze. Cold rushed through my feet. I cried out and ran toward him, lifting his head into my lap, calling his name again and again.

I need help,” I said. “Are you listening? Go call an ambulance. Bring water. Try to lift him. Come here, hold his hand.”

She was still standing there.

“Hey. Are you not listening? Why are you just standing there?”

Then she started smiling. Her hair fell over her shoulders. I saw blood on her head, her clothes torn, her hand broken. She was smiling and crying at the same time.

W-what is this?

It looks like the accident.

I looked down. Grandfather’s skin was turning yellow. His eyes looked hollow, like they were telling me about years of alcohol, years of damage.

I wanted to speak. I wanted to scream.

No words came out. My throat burned. My hands shook. I didn’t know what to do.

My phone rang in my pocket.

They both looked at me.

Two bodies watching one living person.

“Hello?”

“Akash, why didn’t you pick up the phone? Today is the seventh anniversary of your grandfather and your girl friend. Go to her house. Take flowers. Her mother will be waiting.”

The call ended.

The room was empty now. The two bodies had vanished.

I was still sitting on the ground, in the exact place where, a moment ago, two people had been. Now they were gone.

And all I could think was that it was my fault.

I couldn’t save them..

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