Trust
1803 Words
Healing didn’t arrive like a sunrise.
It came quietly—like breath returning after being held too long.
—
Abhay still didn’t speak to anyone.
Not Meera.
Not the other caretakers.
Not the children who had slowly begun to laugh and play again.
If anyone tried, he would listen… sometimes even look at them now… but his voice remained locked away.
Except—
“Rudra.”
Always Rudra.
—
It became a quiet pattern.
Rudra would arrive, and no matter where Abhay was—corner, hallway, by the window—his eyes would find him.
And slowly… he would move closer.
Not immediately.
Not openly.
But inevitably.
—
One afternoon, the sun filtered softly through the open windows, carrying warmth into the once-cold building.
The younger children were outside, their laughter echoing faintly.
Inside, it was calmer.
Abhay sat on the floor near the wall, knees drawn up, Rudra’s coat still wrapped around him like a shield.
It dragged slightly along the ground now.
Too big.
Too heavy.
But he refused to let it go.
—
Rudra noticed immediately.
He always did.
“You’ll outgrow that soon,” he said lightly, stepping closer.
Abhay’s fingers tightened in the fabric.
A flicker of something crossed his face—
Panic.
Quick. Sharp. Almost invisible.
But not to Rudra.
—
Rudra stopped.
Didn’t take another step.
“Alright,” he said quietly, adjusting without hesitation. “You can keep it.”
Just like that.
No questions.
No insistence.
—
Abhay’s shoulders eased.
Barely.
But it was there.
—
Rudra crouched down beside him, leaving just enough space.
“You didn’t go outside today.”
Abhay shook his head.
A pause.
Then, softer—
“…They’ll take it.”
Rudra’s brows furrowed slightly. “Take what?”
Abhay hesitated.
His voice came out smaller this time.
“…Everything.”
—
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Honest.
—
Rudra leaned back slightly, resting his arms loosely on his knees.
“No one here is going to take anything from you.”
Abhay didn’t respond.
Didn’t argue.
But his grip on the coat didn’t loosen either.
—
Rudra didn’t push.
Didn’t try to correct the fear with logic.
Instead, he reached out slowly—careful, deliberate—and adjusted the coat around Abhay’s shoulders, pulling it a little tighter.
Grounding.
“You won’t lose this,” he said quietly. “Not here.”
—
Abhay looked at him then.
Really looked.
Searching.
As if trying to find something—
A crack.
A lie.
Anything.
—
But Rudra’s gaze didn’t waver.
And that… was new.
—
Days passed like that.
Small moments.
Tiny shifts.
—
Abhay started sitting closer to Rudra when he visited.
Not touching.
Not leaning.
Just… closer.
—
Sometimes, Rudra would bring things.
A book.
A small wooden puzzle.
Once—a piece of chocolate.
Abhay had stared at it for a long time before taking it.
“…For me?” he had asked quietly.
Rudra had nodded.
“Always.”
—
Abhay didn’t eat it immediately.
He kept it.
Hidden.
Like something too valuable to lose.
—
The insecurity lingered in everything he did.
If another child laughed too loudly near him, he would stiffen.
If someone reached for something near him, he would pull back instinctively.
If Rudra stood up to leave—
That was the worst.
—
“Are you coming back?”
The question came one evening, sudden and unfiltered.
Rudra paused mid-step.
Turned back.
Abhay was standing there, hands clenched tightly at his sides, like he regretted asking already.
—
Rudra walked back to him.
Slow.
Certain.
He stopped right in front of him this time.
“Look at me.”
Abhay hesitated… then did.
—
“I come back every time,” Rudra said.
Not softly.
Not gently.
But firmly.
Something to hold onto.
—
Abhay swallowed.
“…People leave.”
The words were fragile.
Cracked at the edges.
—
Rudra’s expression shifted.
Not into pity.
Never pity.
Something steadier.
Stronger.
—
He knelt down again, bringing himself level with him.
“I’m not people.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—
“I’m yours.”
—
Abhay froze.
Completely.
Like the world had just… stopped.
—
Something in his chest tightened painfully.
Unfamiliar.
Too big.
Too much.
—
“…Mine?” he whispered.
—
Rudra didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
—
That was the moment something changed.
Not healed.
Not fixed.
But… rooted.
—
That night, when Rudra stood to leave again—
Abhay didn’t stay where he was.
He moved.
Quickly.
Before he could stop himself.
—
His fingers caught the edge of Rudra’s sleeve.
Light.
Barely there.
But enough.
—
Rudra looked down.
Then back at him.
—
“…Stay,” Abhay whispered.
The word trembled.
Full of everything he couldn’t say.
—
Rudra exhaled slowly.
For a second… just a second… he looked like a man caught between two worlds.
Responsibility.
And something far more personal.
—
Then—
He sat back down.
—
Abhay didn’t smile.
Didn’t react visibly.
But he didn’t let go of the sleeve either.
—
Minutes passed.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
—
And slowly—
Carefully—
Abhay leaned against him.
—
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t sudden.
It was hesitant.
Like he expected to be pushed away at any second.
—
But Rudra didn’t move.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t break the moment.
—
Instead, after a while, he rested his hand lightly on Abhay’s head.
Gentle.
Steady.
—
Abhay stilled.
Then…
Relaxed.
—
For the first time—
Not just safe.
But wanted.
—
And somewhere between the silence and the closeness…
Something fragile began to bloom.
Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
But real.
—
Love.
Soft.
Unspoken.
Growing quietly in the spaces where fear used to live.
—
And though Abhay still didn’t speak to the world…
He had found his voice—
In one person.
And for now…
That was enough.
_________________________________
Far from the quiet warmth that had begun to settle around Abhay…
There was another house.
Larger.
Colder.
And filled with resentment that had nothing to do with truth.
—
Shivam stood near the window, staring out at the sprawling estate that once felt like home.
Now it just felt… empty.
Not because of Abhay.
But because everything had changed.
Their parents were gone.
And with them—structure, control, certainty.
—
Behind him, Shivansh paced restlessly across the room, agitation clear in every step.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Everything is just… stuck.”
Shivam didn’t respond immediately.
His gaze remained fixed outside.
“Nothing is stuck,” he said finally. “It’s just not in our name yet.”
—
That was the problem.
The one thing neither of them could ignore.
—
Their parents’ estate.
The wealth.
The business shares.
The properties.
All of it… legally tied.
And not just to them.
—
To Abhay.
—
Shivansh stopped pacing.
His expression hardened.
“That shouldn’t even be a thing,” he snapped. “He’s a kid. What does he even understand about any of this?”
Shivam turned slightly, his face calm—but his eyes calculating.
“It’s not about what he understands,” he said. “It’s about what’s written.”
—
The will had been clear.
Divided.
Equal.
Unchangeable… unless all parties consented.
—
And Abhay…
Was still very much one of those parties.
—
Shivansh scoffed, dropping into a chair. “Unbelievable. We’re here dealing with everything, and he’s—”
He paused, a bitter laugh escaping him.
“—what? Sitting comfortably in that orphanage, probably being taken care of like some charity case.”
—
There was no guilt in his voice.
No doubt.
Just assumption.
—
Shivam didn’t correct him.
Because, in his mind…
It made sense.
—
Abhay had always been the quiet one.
The one who stayed out of things.
The one who… didn’t fight back.
—
So of course—
Of course he would be fine.
—
“If anything,” Shivansh continued, leaning forward slightly, “he’s got it easier. No responsibilities. No pressure. Everything handed to him.”
His jaw tightened.
“And we’re the ones stuck cleaning up the mess.”
—
Silence stretched for a moment.
Then Shivam spoke.
Measured.
Careful.
“We don’t need to argue about it,” he said. “We just need a solution.”
—
Shivansh looked at him.
“What kind of solution?”
—
Shivam finally turned fully, his expression composed.
But there was something beneath it.
Something colder.
—
“We get him to sign.”
—
The words hung in the air.
—
Shivansh blinked.
“…Sign?”
—
Shivam nodded once.
“A transfer. Guardianship adjustment. Asset control.” His tone was almost casual. “It’s not complicated.”
—
“It is if he refuses.”
—
Shivam’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“He won’t.”
—
That certainty made Shivansh pause.
“…And why are you so sure about that?”
—
A brief silence.
Then—
“Because he’s Abhay.”
—
Simple.
Dismissive.
Final.
—
“He barely speaks,” Shivam continued. “He avoids confrontation. He won’t even look someone in the eye properly.”
A slight tilt of his head.
“You really think he’s going to fight us on this?”
—
Shivansh leaned back, considering it.
And slowly…
A smirk formed.
—
“…No,” he admitted.
—
In their minds, Abhay was still the same boy.
Silent.
Weak.
Insignificant.
—
They didn’t know about the bruises.
The hunger.
The nights he spent curled into himself, trying to disappear.
—
They didn’t know about the way fear had shaped him.
Or the way healing had only just begun.
—
And they definitely didn’t know about Rudra.
—
Shivansh tapped his fingers against the armrest. “So what? We just go there and ask nicely?”
—
Shivam’s expression didn’t change.
“We go there,” he said calmly, “and we remind him who we are.”
—
A pause.
Then, quieter—
“And what he owes us.”
—
That was enough.
More than enough.
—
Shivansh stood up again, a new energy replacing his earlier frustration.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
—
Shivam gave a small nod.
Decision made.
—
Neither of them questioned it.
Neither of them hesitated.
—
Because in their minds…
This wasn’t cruelty.
This wasn’t manipulation.
—
This was just…
Taking back what was theirs.
—
And somewhere, miles away—
In a place that was finally beginning to feel safe—
Abhay sat quietly beside Rudra, his small fingers lightly gripping the edge of his sleeve.
Unaware…
That the past he had been left behind…
Was already on its way back to him.
- Writer
