Harsh stumbled, struggling to catch upto Agney's march as he was dragged out of the room.

His heart beat so loud it pulsed in his ears.

They passed by Isha's mother in the hallway. She was frozen before the room, her expression horrified as she caught sight of her daughter half-hiding, breathless and disheveled.

Agney didn't pause.

"Have her gone by tomorrow, Mrs. Dastur. She is not to return."

Climbing down the stairs, Harsh tried to yank back his wrist but he failed miserably.

"I'm sorry!" Harsh pleaded, increasingly terrified of his brother's furious strides.

"Please, I said I'm sorry. It won't repeat."

Agney didn't reply the whole way to his study.

When the door closed behind them with a click, Agney let go his wrist.

Harsh stepped back with fear as his own heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Crack.

His face turned the other way from the sudden slap, reeling at his place.

Crack.

He sobbed, falling to his knees. His hand went to his face, cupping the bruised cheek, breath caught in his throat.

"Just tell me how many times must I scrub the stain off you before you stop crawling back into that filth!"

Harsh flinched, shaking his head. He wanted to argue, just say anything but his throat closed up, tongue refusing to work as he cried.

"This is the reason why illegitimate children like you are never accepted. All you can do is sully your existence."

His heart slammed painfully in his chest as his face turned red. He couldn't get enough air, not when all of a sudden he everything crashed on him, when the truth was glaring right at his face.

He deserved nothing. He was a manwhore.

Agney shook his head to himself, pacing before him. "You..."

"I'm willing to give you everything you need to become someone worthy of our blood. Still, you choose this filth. Because you want to be filth. You don't want to live a respectable, dignified life. You want live in that filth! Filth!" Agney clutched his forehead like he couldn't speak anymore.

Harsh shook his head. "It was..." he choked, unable to voice it. He felt so disgusted with himself. He let out a strangled, broken sound. He didn't excuse his actions. He was everything he hated about himself.

"You're not trying. You don't want to try." Agney chuckled, coldly. "You won't change despite how many efforts—"

The door opened and Prithvi rushed inside. One look at Harsh who was hyperventilating on the floor and up at his older brother, before his eyes hardened.

"What are you trying to do, bhai? Scare him to death?"

Agney looked away with a stern face, his shoulders heaving.

Prithvi moved forward, going straight for Harsh.

"Hey, look at me," he said quickly, dropping to his knees beside him, tapping his face. "Now shush. Enough with crying rivers," he gently cooed, before grabbing Harsh by his arm and hauling him up.

Harsh stumbled, barely staying upright.

Prithvi turned to Agney.
"He has made a mistake. I get that too. But that doesn't mean you will destroy him just to prove a point. He's scared."

Agney's eyes darkened. "You weren't there—"

"I've heard enough."

They stared at each other, before Agney turned his back.

"Take him out of my sight."

Prithvi sighed, then pulled Harsh towards the door.

Walking down the corridor, once they were out of earshot, Prithvi turned to him.

"What were you thinking? Having underage sex? Really?"

Harsh didn't answer as he sniffed. His sobs had quietened to silent tears.

Prithvi sighed at the lack of response and looked ahead as he held Harsh's hand arm, guiding him to his room. The boy was still crying, shoulders trembling every two seconds. His eyes were red and swollen, but the tears didn't stop.

Once inside, Prithvi closed the door softly. He didn't speak for a while while Harsh sat down on the bed, before he walked to the side table and poured a glass of water.

He held it out. Harsh stared at the water, nausea building up.

He shook his head, just wanting to curl up and vanish. He didn't want anyone looking at his disgusting face. He felt disgusted with himself, scratching his wrist to peel away the dirt.

"Drink. You're dehydrated."

Harsh glanced down his at his prickling wrist. It was turning red with how furiously his hand was scratching at it. He couldn't stop!

"Harsh!" Prithvi stepped closer, lifting the glass gently to his lips. "C'mon. Bhai is going to punish you tomorrow nonetheless."

Harsh squirmed at the cold rim of the glass touching his mouth.

"I don't want to..."

Prithvi however persisted until his mouth turned dry and he realized he needed to drink.

He reluctantly grabbed the glass and drank it in small sips, trying to fight the nauseous feeling building up in his chest. His fingers tapped at the cool glass instead, anything to take his mind off his bleak thoughts.

He drank in small gulps, still sniffing between breaths as he stared at the floor and wondered if everything since beginning was his fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe he deserved everything bad that had happened to him because that was what people like him deserved. He was born a filth and he would definitely die one.

Prithvi shifted on his legs, arms crossed, sympathetic for the boy.

Yes, he should be punished for what he just did, but his brother crossed limits when he was agitated. Agni wasn't like their bhaiya who knew how to tame his turbulent, passionate emotions. His world was as deceptive as an ocean. Calm on the surface, but could devastate anything in his path when turned to a tsunami. Prithvi didn't know what wound his older brother had inflicted on the boy that had him looking so lost and hopeless.

He wasn't fearing anything physical. But something scarring his soul.

"Go shower," Prithvi said gently, after finding Harsh again scratching at his wrist. He pried off his hand and nudged him. "Harsh? Take a shower. You'll feel better."

"I don't want to," Harsh mumbled again, looking down. In this moment, he looked utterly lost and desolate.

"I know you don't want to, but it will refresh your mood. Besides, you have missed the dinner. Use that shower till the food is brought here."

Harsh didn't want to eat. Despite that, something about Prithvi's soft, baritone voice urged him to do it.

He dragged himself to the bathroom.

The water ran as he scrubbed his skin clean. His tears mixed with the water. He couldn't tell what hurt more, his own disgust or the hopelessness of his addiction.

"Still, you choose this filth. Because you want to be filth. You don't want to live a respectable, dignified life. You want live in that filth!

Maybe that was true. Maybe he wanted that. He was scared even if he tried hard enough, he would fall back into the same loop. He was afraid despite all efforts he would make, nothing could stop him from fearing pain and compensating for pleasure instead. It was a sick pattern. Of wanting love, belongingness, feeling needed, so that he would be sure nothing could hurt him anymore.

He was stuck in the past.

Trying was pointless.

"You won't change."

He couldn't change.

It was true.

A sudden knock on the door pulled him out of his spiral.

"Harsh? It' been fifteen minutes " Prithvi's voice came through. "Come out now. Food's here."

Harsh slipped on the first clothes that came into view, soft and loose, and trudged out of the bathroom while trembling. His hair dripped in damp strands, clinging to his forehead, while his eyes, red and swollen, seemed even more hollow than before.

The faint scent of warm food lingered from the small dining trolley beside the bed, but it didn't stir his appetite. All he saw was how unworthy he was of everything, even food because he never tried enough.

Prithvi stood beside it, arms crossed, head tilted as he studied Harsh. His face was calm, but there was a tired crease between his brows. "Still not better?"

"I'm not hungry," Harsh muttered, already curling away from the sight.

Prithvi slowly exhaled through his nose, his shoulders rising with the breath. He reminded himself not to push too hard.

"You need energy," he sighed softly. "You cried a lot."

Irritation sparked in Harsh. Why was he acting so nice unlike his brother?

"I don't want anything!" he snapped. "Just go. Leave my room. I need privacy."

Prithvi's jaw tensed. His lips parted, but he closed them again, glancing away for a beat. When he looked back, his expression became sterner.

"I can't leave you like this."

"Did I ask you?" He provoked, tilting his head. "No. I don't want people who don't care about me. Just leave me. Alone," he choked, hot tears rising again.

Prithvi stepped forward. "I do care—"

"No, you don't. You all ignored me! All these years, I was right there, and none of you ever looked for me. Because I'm the sin, right? The unwanted outcome your father didn't want. Well, leave me then. I can look after myself."

Prithvi flinched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. His hands dropped to his sides, unclenched now. "Is this why you've been keeping your distance since you came here?"

Harsh didn't answer. He turned his face away, the tears falling silently again. He knew these people never cared for him. The only thing they cared about was their reputation.

Prithvi slowly walked over to the bed. He sank onto the mattress beside him, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. He hesitated for a brief moment. Was this the right time to clear misunderstandings? Or was he being impatient, not giving Harsh enough time to adjust? He decided it was the former, and rubbed a hand across his mouth, collecting his thoughts.

"Harsh, we didn't even know you... existed."

Harsh's body locked up, lips parting as he faced Prithvi. "What? I was... You didn't know I was there?"

He was not even worth mentioning? Was that how insignificant he was?

"We knew about the affair," Prithvi said, voice dipping low. "Dad told us, years after the twins were born that he had... strayed. Mum's health had deteriorated after their birth. As a result, our parents' relationship wasn't the smoothest. But he never said anything about a child. Not once. If he had..." Prithvi's voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. "If we had known, do you really think we would've left you out there like that?"

Harsh didn't respond, only stared at him, breathing unevenly.

"You're lying," he whispered as the first tear fell from his eyes. There was no way on earth they didn't know about him, that they deliberately didn't choose to ignore him.

"I wish I was."

Prithvi reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering in the air for a brief moment, before he slowly wrapped his hand around Harsh's trembling wrist.

"Your mother only reached out three days ago," he continued gently. "We knew about the affair so it wasn't unbelievable. But we had our doubts. That's why bhai got your paternity test done. We didn't even know what to think. But we were furious, Harsh. Not at you. At our dad. For hiding you from us. We regret not knowing about you sooner."

Harrh's breathing hitched. He looked down at the place where Prithvi's warm hand rested on his skin. It felt... nice.

"You could have been a prince. A real prince. Now, look at you. You're just as ruined as me. Blame him, honey. Your mother has worse things to worry about."

His mother had always been right.

"I hate him," Harsh muttered angrily, laced with poison. That man had stooped far worse than anyone could ever.

A firm thumb brushed over Harsh's wrist in a small, unconscious gesture of comfort. "We do too," he said, voice low, staring at their hands with a strange look. "It's lucky he's dead. Because I don't think I could ever look at him again."

His older brother stayed quiet for a while, hand still lightly holding his wrist. The silence wasn't heavy. It was weirdly comforting.

"Do you understand what you did wrong today?"

His face flushed immediately. His body tensed under Prithvi's touch as he tried to tug back his hand.

He stared at the floor, jaw tightening. "I wanted sex," he mumbled barely as shame surged through him.

Prithvi didn't react. He regarded him calmly. "No. Wanting sex isn't wrong."

Harsh's head snapped up, startled. His eyes searched Prithvi's face, searching for the but.

"But," Prithvi continued, confirming it, "you're a minor. And that makes it wrong in so many ways, for your safety, your emotional well-being, the law. Everything."

Prithvi pulled away as he leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand down his face like the conversation exhausted him.

Harsh looked away, squirming at his place because he could sniff the cringey 'adult talk' from a mile away.

"You don't know what you're doing, Harsh. Not really."

He groaned and faced him, exasperated. "I'm just nine months away from turning eighteen. I know enough. Consent, protection, I'm not dumb. Even Isha is around my age. That's why I chose her. I'm not an idiot."

Prithvi tilted his head slightly. His lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "She's almost nineteen. But I'm not concerned about that. I'm concerned about you. Do you think turning eighteen magically gives you a permit?"

Harsh shot him a glare, still sulking.

"Legally, yes," Prithvi continued. "But practically? No. No eighteen-year-old is mature enough to handle the consequences of sex. Neither the emotional nor the psychological ones. Most people don't start making healthy choices about their bodies and minds until they hit their mid-twenties."

He paused, eyes softening again as his firm gaze pinned Harsh at his place. "You're still learning what love is, what's lust, what's desire. Right now, it's all a... noise. Hormonal noise to be precise."

Harsh exhaled shakily, something in him aching quietly at the soft, endearing voice as he stared at his own slippers. He didn't know why it hurt to be spoken gently to.

Could this have been his life if his father had confessed to his brothers long ago?

What else had he missed?

"Are you listening to me?"

Harsh peeked up, and looked down again, nodding.

Prithvi leaned forward again and held both of his arms to steady him.

"The world's dangerous, Harsh. You don't know what monster can be lurking behind an appealing face. People lie. People use others. Someone could look at you like they care, but all they really see is a chance to take something from you or break you. You think you can tell the difference right now, but you can't. Not yet, not for a long while atleast. We're concerned for your safety."

The word monster was enough to trigger old, buried memories of his childhood. His mood instantly turned sour as he pulled away, standing farther from Prithvi. "So what? I'm supposed to be celibate till I'm twenty-five?"

"That's what you've deduced?" Prithvi chuckled dryly.

He looked over at Harsh now, his expression somewhat amused, which made Harsh's chest squeeze with a lightness that was almost... painful.

Okay, Harsh. Time to snap out of it.

"Whatever," he grumbled, looking away as he crossed his arms. "My appetite's back and roaring ferociously. Can we not talk about this now?"

He was rattled by Prithvi and right now, he needed a distraction. 

Like... food. Yes, food.

Prithvi raised both brows. "Was that a full sentence?"

"Shut up."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Prithvi's mouth.

Prithvi stood up and tousled Harsh's hair, making his heart skip a beat.

He stepped back, scowling at his hand as Prithvi chuckled.

"Enjoy the princess treatment before you meet the inevitable."

Harsh pretended not to be nervous as he walked over to the trolley, lifting the lids to check what had been served. "What kind of inevitable...?"

"Grounding? Essays? Maybe kneeling? Possibly a soul-sucking lecture with bhai that leaves you dead for a week. And let's not forget, his creative disciplinary tasks are a cherry on the top."

Harsh shivered, warily observing him. "You're kidding, right?"

Prithvi shrugged, playfully. "Maybe? Maybe not? That's an answer only your future self knows."

Harsh stared blankly. 

That means his future self was cooked.