Neeta hurried through the hospital corridor, clutching a steel tiffin box. But this time, her heart was heavier than her hands. Her younger brother, Karun, had been admitted after a drunken brawl at a wedding. The whole neighbourhood was talking. Her parents were devastated.
“He has no shame,” an uncle had spat that morning. “Drinking, fighting—what will people think of our family?”
Even at the hospital, the murmurs continued. A few relatives stood outside the ward, shaking their heads. “After all the love his family gave him, this is how he repays them?”
Inside, Karun sat slumped on the bed, a bruised eye and a bandaged arm making him look smaller than his usual confident self. Their mother sat at a distance, tears in her eyes. “What have we done to deserve this, Karun?”
Karun didn’t answer. His silence wasn’t guilt—it was shame, buried under anger and frustration. His fists clenched under the white hospital sheet, his breathing shallow. The weight of judgment in the air was suffocating.
Neeta placed the tiffin on the side table and took a deep breath. The air was thick with unspoken words. She knelt beside Karun and touched his arm gently. “You must be in pain.”
His eyes flickered toward her, confused. “Everyone just wants to yell at me.”
“I don’t,” Neeta said softly. “I just want to understand.”
His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to argue, but no words came out. Instead, his eyes welled up. He turned his face away, swallowing hard. “I didn’t want to fight. It just… happened. I was angry.”
Neeta nodded. “Angry at what?”
He hesitated before whispering, “At everything. At how I’m never enough. At how no matter what I do, I disappoint everyone.”
Their mother gasped. “That’s not true!”
Karun let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t it? I’ve heard it all my life. ‘Why can’t you be more responsible? Why can’t you be like so-and-so? Why can’t you just be… better?’” His voice cracked. “And yesterday, when that man insulted me in front of everyone, something inside me just snapped.”
The room fell silent. Their mother’s lips trembled, her hands gripping the edge of her saree. Neeta could feel the storm raging inside Karun—the hurt, the rage, the desperate need to be seen.
Neeta reached for his hand and held it firmly. “You’re not full of mistake, Karun. And you don’t have to prove your worth by fighting or by suffering.”
His breathing hitched. Their mother, still trembling, finally reached out and touched his other hand. “I just want my son back,” she whispered.
The moment held. The anger in the room softened into something else—something fragile, yet real. The dam inside Karun cracked, and a single tear slipped down his bruised cheek.
Neeta squeezed his arm gently. “No more judgment, okay? Just healing. One step at a time.”
Karun exhaled shakily and, for the first time, nodded.
Outside, the relatives were still talking. But inside that hospital room, something had shifted. Love and understanding had found their way in. And with that, the miracle had begun.