Warning: Mental breakdown.

Harsh didn't mean to encroach upon the kitchen. He was on his way, rather lost on his way to the breakfast hall when he caught sight of the chaotic kitchen with mouth-watering aroma.

He did anyway.

He peered inside the humdrum of the staff, several clipboards in hands and a guy in black uniform overseeing the inspection. When a junior chef caught Harsh's gaze, his eyes rounded immediately as he stepped aside to let Harsh in. Though, the guy didn't announce Harsh's presence to anyone.

Harsh moved inside, curiosity piqued as documents lined various metal slabs.

He caught a glimpse of the document as he walked past it.

Meal: Breakfast

Time: 10:13 AM

Menu: Poha with pomegranate and peanut.

Scrambled eggs (soft).

Multigrain toast (buttered).

Seasonal fruit (papaya, fig, melon).

Fresh curd (unsweetened).

Chai (mild sugar, cardamom, tested).

Taster initials: S.R. – No adverse reaction.

Harsh tried to suppress his amusement, but a choked laughter managed to bubble out of him.

The man who was inspecting the main chef turned with an irritated scowl. "Is there a problem—" his mouth clamped shut when he discovered it was a Prince.

Harsh looked up, amused.

"Even in this day, there are food tasters?"

The crew cut man bowed. "Good morning, your Highness. How may I help you? And yes, it's a protocol. All food served to members of the royal family is tasted in advance and documented for safety measures. The process is closely monitored via a live feed with two witnesses present at all times."

Harsh stared, stunned. "Woah."

The man nodded awkwardly, clasping his hands before him.

"It's like a period drama," Harsh chuckled, looking around.

"Certainly, if you say, your Highness," The man replied diplomatically. "Pardon me. May we know the reason you're here? Do you have a special breakfast request? You can send the message through one of the intercoms."

Harsh shook his head. "No... I just waltzed in..." he shrugged awkwardly. Fuck.

He immediately felt self conscious at the eerie silence and several pair of eyes blankly staring at him.

The man smiled tensely. "No problem, your Highness. Om!" He called out over the Prince's shoulder. "Escort his highness to the breakfast table."

The staff resumed their clamor as a guy removed his plastic wrap on head and gloves. He bowed. "Please follow me, your Highness."

Harsh internally face-palmed in embarrassment.

           Luckily, breakfast wasn't that humiliating. He ended up eating his food without making a fool out of himself. As he chewed in the empty breakfast hall, out of blue, he missed Chirag.

Damn.

Now he understood why he needed that guy. This place was exhausting to maneuver on his own.

"Your highness." A middle aged maid in her signature red sari bowed by his side, respectfully standing a metre away. "Prince Prithvi wants to see you in his study."

Harsh nodded. "Yeah."

As the maid turned to leave, he realized he didn't know the way to Prithvi's room. "Wait!"

The maid turned. "Yes, your highness?"

"Can you show me the way?"

She smiled professionally. "Of course."

               Harsh stayed rooted to the spot where the maid left him before Prithvi's study. His chest tightened at the reminder of last night. Maybe he should just run away. He couldn't ignore his sweet, gentle words, the way the older prince had treated him like he was worthy of being cared for. It didn't make sense why his emotions were jumbled.

But he knew he didn't want to give himself false hopes.

People always had motives.

He didn't know when his knuckles rapped against the door. Better be over with it.

"Come in!"

Pushing the door inside, his eyes landed on Prithvi who was quickly orderinh a man, flipping through a set of pages before handing over them to what Harsh assumed, his PA.

Prithvi glanced his way, and smiled. "Morning. Sit."

Harsh tentatively took out the chair and sat down while Prithvi resumed talking about some deadline at the end of this month.

When Prithvi's tired but smiling eyes swept in his direction, his heart jolted. His body warmed all of a sudden at the sweet little attention.

"Meet Yug, my PA." He smiled.

"Morning, your highness." The other man bowed politely.

Was this why he was called? His heart sunk in disappointment. Maybe he expected...

Nevermind.

Harsh blinked and feigned boredom.

"Since his majesty has cut off Chirag, Yug will be managing your schedule for the time being. I hope it won't be that much of an inconvenience." Prithvi slightly craned his neck to the left. "Yug."

"Understood, your highness." Yug nodded and left them alone.

After he was gone, Prithvi sighed. "Well, how did your punishment go?"

Harsh shrugged, his heart heavy. "Is that why you've called me?" He asked sharply.

He didn't want them to grow close. Attachments were a weakness, even if the other Prince was anything but selfish. Harsh could tell apart the difference between genuine people and fake ones over these years.

But that didn't mean his heart understood.

It was still terrified and yet desperately wanted love at the same time.

He had to hold his emotions.

Prithvi's gaze faltered for a moment, before he raised his chin with a solemn look. "That's not the only thing I want to discuss. It's your..." he trailed off, and instead, walked over to a desk pushed to the far wall.

Harsh watched as Prithvi procured a heavy, ornate box. When he opened it and pulled out an urn, Harsh's breath hitched.

His mother.

Prithvi respectfully put down the urn before him. "Bhai has sent this over an hour ago. It took a few days for the electric incineration. He figured you'd want to do something with your mother's ashes."

His hand trembled as his fingers grazed the urn. His eyes teared up, before he blinked off the grief.

He composed himself and scowled. "Whatever. Is this why you have called me? I don't know. Dump her wherever."

"Harsh."

He flinched.

Prithvi's lips pursed. "That's your mother."

"Not the mother of the year," he retorted. "Look, I'm trying for her. What else? Create a Taj Mahal for her?"

"You can immerse her ashes in some river," Prithvi offered.

"I don't have time for that bullshit," he scowled. He leaned in aggressively. "And listen, that's my mum. No one has more say than me. Besides, why does even Agney care about a whore?"

Prithvi's eyes flashed. "Agney bhai. He's your elder. And address your mom with respect."

"Please," he scoffed, shaking his head. Though he didn't add anything else.

When Prithvi didn't stop pointedly staring him down, he squirmed. "Fine. I'll immerse her in a lake. Good?"

Prithvi nodded, walking over to his chair. "Harsh, you have to understand that responsibilities aren't something you can voluntarily choose to accept or relinquish. One must uphold their duty, whatever may come."

His heart ached at that.

Then why did no one took his responsibility when he needed it the most?

When his mother should had cared for him, she left him alone and on his own in an apartment, expecting him to magically learn everything on his own. No one guided him, looked after him.

When he needed his father to give him his name his identity, he backed off too.

When he needed someone to protect him, no one shielded him.

When he needed someone to hold him, there was nothing but his own frail body he could clung to.

Then why should he care about duty?

Wasn't he doing the bare minimum already?

His throat closed up. All of a sudden it sunk into his bones how alone and hollow he was. He tried to rub his wrist, shifting in his seat. He was alone. Cold. He wanted a safe, warm touch. Someone to want him. Someone to hold him.

Prithvi's firm gaze wavered with guilt at the boy's anguished face. He cleared his throat, deciding to change the matter. Maybe it was grief of losing his mother.

"This wasn't the only matter I called you for. Neelakshi has sent over your records to me. I'm surprised that you...." he trailed off, taking the tablet that was lying on the desk. He swiped.

"You completed your schooling two years ago?" He looked up, frowning.

Harsh shrugged tiredly.

He didn't have a normal life. After that man ruined him, studying became the only escape besides sex to take his mind off those painful memories. His mother never bothered to admit him into a school because she was a crackhead. When he grew old enough, he enrolled himself in an open school and studied on his own.

Because... what else was there to do in life?

"That's really impressive, Harsh. Most people can't do that young."

His eyes dropped, focusing on a tiny golden crack in the marble floor. His throat tightened painfully.

"Impressive?" He scoffed in a self depreciating grin.

He was dumb when it mattered the most. The Prince thought he was bright. How naive. If studying wasn't the only thing he could do, he wouldn't have done it. He studied because he wanted to take his mind off things. That's all. It was just a past time.

Prithvi's brow furrowed slightly, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he leaned forward just a bit. "Harsh... I'm serious." His voice softened, sincere and steady. "That's really impressive. You should be proud of yourself." A faint, encouraging smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hoping to reach past his walls.

He looked up and his chest panged at the sincerity in his eyes.

Prithvi didn't know how dumb he was. He would be disgusted by him.

He shrugged. "It's not a big deal," he spoke lethargically, wanting to end this conversation. Prithvi didn't know his every word was mocking him.

It wasn't impressive. It was just stupid.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? We were expecting to enroll you in a school."

His heart sank. He inhaled deeply, looking away as he clutched his wrist on his lap. "Nobody asked," he replied truthfully.

It was the truth. No one did ask.

No one had ever seen the way the stayed up alone, pouring over books until his eyes stung because he was afraid to fall asleep. No one had known the way his mother disappeared for days, leaving aching silence and a lonely life behind. No one knew how much he self loathed himself after sex.

No one knew about him.

The room seemed to close in on him as the polished walls blurred at the edges of his vision. His fingers curled into wrist so tight his nails bit.

A cold, hollow ache bloomed in his chest, spreading out in tight waves.

In this world, no one knew him.

No one.

For the first time, he felt the sharp edge of fear of being utterly alone.

He looked down at his lap instead as his breath grew shallow.

"Harsh?"

"I want to leave," he whispered.

Prithvi grew alarmed but Harsh stood up.

"I just need space, kay?" He hugged the urn to his chest.

Prithvi stood up, almost to follow him but he froze when he saw the same intense indignation in the boy's pink, teary eyes. His chest tightened. All of a sudden, he was reminded of Yuvaan, and he couldn't bring himself to face that pain again after last night.

Harsh's heart sank when Prithvi hesitated. He was a liability. He knew it.

Duty, responsibility, whatever they named it, but he was just a liability for these people. Prithvi didn't care. Nobody ever did.

He stormed out of the room, his breathing ragged. He didn't know how he reached his room through the labyrinth of the corridors, but he did somehow. Turned out, Prithvi's room was closer to Harsh's than he thought. He closed the door after him and slammed the urn on the desk.

His eyes teared up again as something clawed at his chest. He paced the room, anguished as he wanted to scream how badly he wanted to be held once. He wanted someone to truly want to understand him. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He was just tired.

His eyes stilled at Tina's urn.

He was alone.

The first tears fell, then second and then a whole stream.

To whom would he confess his fears now? Atleast when she was alive, he would talk to her about his feelings after she had passed out. He could delude himself on those lonely nights that someone had heard him. But now, he had no one.

He sat on the floor, leaning against the bed as he cried silently. His skin itched. He furiously scratched his wrist, wanting a release.

All of a sudden he realized he just wanted sex. He badly needed it now to forget everything, even just for a few minutes. He couldn't live with this feeling. He wanted to end his pain.

He put on the privacy latch of the door and tried.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter how aroused he wanted to be, his body refused to be aroused. It terrified him, shaking him on his spot. He was trapped in his own body as it refused to listen to him. He was reminded of all the times he underwent pain while someone else reaped pleasure out of him and he couldn't do anything about it. Panic clawed at him as memories surged, flashes of hands, being forced to endure it, a pain searing through his entire body. He gasped, curling in on himself.

"Stop," he whispered. "Please..."

Pain. Pain. Pain. His body shook, breath coming in short bursts. He opened every drawer, scavenging every cabinet and shelf on his wobbly knees. He sobbed with relief when he found a stack of paper and pens.

He immediately began to write in his illegible handwriting, tears dropping on the paper in big blotches.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

By the time the page was covered in his shaky handwriting, his breathing had calmed down. Exhaustion weighed on his muscles. He lied on the bed on his side, paper beside him. Turning it over with his trembling hand, he watched the hazy words with his swollen, drowsy eyes.

Forget it. Okay?

He wrote in a very slow motion, lethargy paralyzing him.

It doesn't matter. It was nothing. It was nothing. Listen to me. It doesn't matter. Don't make a big deal out of it, kay? Forget it. It happened, so what? You asked for it. And yeah, it hurt, so what? Forget it.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It does...​​​

His eyelids fluttered shut, pen slipping from his fingers. It rolled off the edge of the bed with a soft clink.

"Tina?" Harsh nudged her, sprawling in the bathtub.

The shower ran overhead, drenching her. With glazed eyes, she stared at the sterile wall in front of her.

He sat on the edge of the tub, looking up at the flickering bulb. "Oye Tina..."

She giggled to herself.

He stared at the tired bulb, emotionally drained.

"Do you think I'm bad?"

He looked down at her. Tina however kept on smiling to herself, whispering to her dope world.

With a heavy heart, he observed the way water gurgled, constantly draining out. "I think I'm. I mean, look at me. I'm so boring. I'm dumb. I'm loud. I'm noisy. I'm so bad, Tina... I think I deserve to stay where I'm. I'm so lazy. I mean... I know if I want something, I should try. But I don't want to. I'm selfish Tina. I'm greedy. I want everything but I want to do nothing for it."

He sighed, glancing up at her. She was smiling at him. He lightly tapped her cold cheeks. "I'm stupid."

"Stupid..." she copied. A moment later she cackled like she had finally lost her mind.

He decided he would never be like her.

But the truth was, he couldn't escape it anymore.