★Rihaan's Trauma★

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The Mehra family had never been one for lavish luxuries, but they prided themselves on their closeness and simple, content life. Mr and Mrs. Mehra worked tirelessly to provide for their two sons, Raj and Rihaan, whom they loved more than anything in the world. Although life had its struggles, they dreamed of a brighter future for their boys, especially given that they lived in a small, rural village where opportunities were scarce.

Rihaan was an exceptionally bright student. He had an aptitude for learning that even his teachers marveled at. But as the years went on, his potential outgrew the resources available in their village school. They wanted to give him every possible advantage, so when his teacher suggested sending him to a boarding school in the city for better education, they couldn’t ignore the opportunity. It meant financial sacrifices, yes, and heartache too, but they believed it was for the best.

*****

Mrs. Mehra twisted the end of her sari anxiously, her mind wandering to the son she hadn’t seen in days. The house felt quieter without Rihaan’s laughter echoing off the walls. Raj had been a constant comfort, mature beyond his years, but even he couldn’t fill the void that Rihaan left behind. A mother’s heart can never truly rest when her child is away.

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked, breaking the silence that hung between them. Her voice was quiet, laced with an unspoken worry.

Mr. Mehra looked up from the pile of bills on the table, his face lined with exhaustion. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he replied, trying to sound reassuring. But even he wasn’t completely certain. The letters they received from Rihaan were always polite, but they were short, lacking the warmth and excitement he’d expected. Rihaan had never been one to share his emotions easily, but his brief messages made Mr. Mehra wonder if something was amiss.

“We made this choice to give him a better life,” he added, as if trying to convince himself as much as Mrs Mehra. “There’s no good school here. He deserves a real education, a chance to make something of himself.”

She nodded slowly, though her heart felt heavy. She missed him terribly. “He’s still so young,” she murmured, more to herself than to Mr. Mehra. “Eight years old and away from home. I can’t help but worry… we’re his parents; it’s our job to worry.”

*****

The weekend finally came when they could visit Rihaan at his boarding school. Mr. And Mrs. Mehra packed a small bag of his favorite snacks, sweets, and some clothes for him. They’d both been saving up for this trip, cutting back on small pleasures to afford the travel expenses. Raj, who was also eagerly looking forward to seeing his younger brother, had to stay behind due to his schoolwork.

“I’ll see him next time,” Raj insisted, his voice filled with a maturity that made his parents’ hearts ache. “I want him to have a better future. I’ll do my best here, and he’ll do his best there. He’s lucky to be able to go to a good school.” Raj’s sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed by his parents, who knew how much he missed his brother, yet supported their decision wholeheartedly.

The journey to the city was long, the road bumpy and unforgiving. Mrs. Mehra clutched the small bag of treats tightly in her lap, her mind racing with thoughts of how Rihaan might have changed since they last saw him. She hoped he’d made friends, that he was happy and thriving in his new environment. After all, it was why they’d made this decision, wasn’t it? For him to experience things he couldn’t in their small village.

*****

They arrived at the boarding school, their eyes taking in the vast, immaculate grounds. Mr. And Mrs. Mehra stood at the entrance, feeling both pride and trepidation. The campus was grand, a far cry from the humble surroundings Rihaan had grown up in. They’d hoped this would be a place where he could truly blossom, where he could learn, grow, and reach his full potential.

“Let’s find him,” Mrs. Mehra said softly, her eyes scanning the area. She spotted a familiar figure in the distance—Rihaan, in his uniform, walking slowly toward them. Her heart swelled with both love and worry. He looked thinner, his face paler than she remembered, but he broke into a smile when he saw them, quickening his pace.

“Mom! Dad!” he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard. He forced a wide smile, the same one he’d practiced in his dormitory mirror, rehearsing for the visit. He didn’t want them to know. He had promised himself he’d keep it hidden, bury it deep where they couldn’t reach it.

Mrs. Mehra rushed to hug him, wrapping him in her arms. She felt his small frame, the slight frailty, but told herself it was just a mother’s imagination. “Oh, Rihaan! Look at you! You’ve grown so much,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. But as she pulled back to look at him, her eyes scanned his face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the way he seemed to shy away from her gaze.

“Are you eating well?” Mr. Mehra asked, his tone soft but concerned.

Rihaan nodded, his smile unwavering. “Yes, Dad. They give us good food here.” It was a lie, of course. He barely had an appetite, and the cafeteria food didn’t appeal to him. But he couldn’t bear to tell them that. He didn’t want them to worry.

They both exchanged a glance, sensing something they couldn’t quite place. They’d hoped to see Rihaan happy, maybe even brimming with excitement about his new life. Instead, he seemed distant, his responses quick and measured. Still, they brushed it aside, hoping it was just a phase of adjustment.

“We brought you some of your favorite snacks!” Mrs. Mehra said, offering the bag to him. “Aloo parathas, laddoos… all made just for you.”

Rihaan’s eyes lit up, the first genuine glimmer of happiness they’d seen. “Thank you, Mom!” he said, accepting the bag with a little more enthusiasm. But even as he dug into the treats, a small part of him felt guilty. They’d come all this way, sacrificing so much, and here he was, struggling in silence, unable to confide in them.

*****

As they sat together, Mrs. Mehra couldn’t help but ask, “Rihaan, have you made any friends here?” It was one of the reasons they’d sent him to this school. Rihaan had always been shy, often retreating into himself instead of socializing with other children. They hoped the new environment would help him open up, maybe even find a close friend or two.

Rihaan’s stomach twisted. He had rehearsed this, too, the casual lies he’d tell them to keep them from probing deeper. “Yes, Mom. I’ve made a few friends,” he replied, forcing a cheerful tone.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mrs. Mehra’s eyes sparkled with relief. “We’d love to meet them. Can you introduce us?”

Panic flared in Rihaan’s chest. He hadn’t anticipated this. He hadn’t made any friends; he spent most of his time alone, enduring taunts, jeers, and the relentless bullying that had become a daily torment. But he couldn’t tell them that. He couldn’t bear the thought of them worrying, of seeing the disappointment in their eyes.

“They’re… busy,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “They’re off doing other things. We don’t have the same schedules.” It sounded weak, even to his own ears, but he hoped they wouldn’t press further.

Mr. Mehra frowned slightly, sensing his son’s discomfort. “Are you sure, Rihaan? We just want to meet the boys you’ve been spending time with. It’s the first time you’ve had friends, after all.”

Rihaan forced a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. “It’s okay, Dad. You’ll meet them some other time.”

Mrs. Mehra, noticing her son’s discomfort, placed a hand on his shoulder. “As long as you’re happy, Rihaan. That’s all that matters.”

The weight of their trust pressed down on him like a stone, and he found himself nodding, unable to speak. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt too heavy to share. How could he tell them that every day felt like a battle, that he dreaded each morning, knowing he’d face another round of taunts, shoves, and cruel words? He didn’t want them to know, to bear the burden of his pain.

*****

After a few hours, it was time for his parents to leave. They hugged Rihaan tightly, their hearts aching at the thought of parting again.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Mrs. Mehra whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “And if anything’s wrong, promise me you’ll tell us.”

Rihaan nodded, his throat tight. “I will, Mom. I promise.” Another lie, one that felt like a weight around his neck.

As they walked away, he watched them go, his smile fading the moment they turned the corner. Alone again, he felt the familiar ache return, the loneliness settling over him like a blanket.

Back on the bus, Mrs. Mehra sat quietly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Do you think he’s really okay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Mr Mehra turned to her, his eyes clouded with concern, but he tried to reassure her, if only for her sake. “He said he’s fine. He’s strong, just like his brother.” But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he believed it. The shadowed look in Rihaan’s eyes, his hesitation—those were signs of something hidden, something he and Mrs. Mehra couldn’t quite reach.

Mrs. Mehra let out a shaky sigh, pressing her hand to her chest. “I know he’s strong. But he’s still a little boy, and he’s our little boy.” She looked out the window, the landscape blurring as they traveled back to the village. “He’s never lied to us before… but he looked so tired, so thin. And when I asked about his friends… I felt like he was hiding something.”

Mr. Mehra squeezed her hand, his voice gentle. “Maybe he’s just adjusting. It’s a big change for him, going from our small home to a place so big. Give him time. He’ll settle in.”

Mrs. Mehra nodded slowly, though worry lingered in her eyes. “I just wish we could be closer. Every moment away from him feels like we’re letting him go a little more.”

Mr. Mehra wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “We’ll check on him every chance we get. And we’ll send Raj with extra letters and little things from home. Rihaan will know we’re with him, no matter how far away we are.”

They both sat in silence, the hum of the bus vibrating through their bones, each of them lost in thoughts of their son, the bright child they had sent to the city with so much hope.

*****

Back at school, Rihaan returned to his dormitory, clutching the bag his parents had given him. The scent of home—his mother’s cooking, the hint of earth and warmth from his father’s clothes—was still fresh, and he clung to it like a lifeline. But the moment he entered his room, the laughter and taunts began to trickle in from the hallway.

“Hey, look who’s back! Mommy’s boy got a visit, huh?” one of the older boys sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

Another chimed in, poking at the bag in Rihaan’s hands. “What did she pack you, huh? A little taste of home? Can’t handle the real world, so your parents come running?”

Rihaan pressed the bag to his chest, his heart racing. He wanted to run, to hide, but he’d learned there was no use. Every time he tried to escape, they found him. He forced himself to stand still, refusing to let his fear show, but his shaking hands betrayed him.

“Hey, Rihaan,” another boy said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “Why don’t you go cry to your mommy, huh? Maybe she can come here and protect you.”

The room filled with laughter, a harsh, hollow sound that made Rihaan’s insides twist. He clenched his fists, his body tense as he struggled to hold back tears. He wanted to tell them to stop, to shout, to scream—but he knew it would only make things worse.

One of the boys grabbed the bag from his hands and dumped its contents onto the floor, scattering the snacks and small trinkets his parents had packed for him. “What’s this? A little comfort food? Poor baby can’t survive without it?”

The sight of his mother’s carefully packed treats strewn across the dirty floor broke something inside Rihaan. He dropped to his knees, gathering the snacks with trembling hands, swallowing the lump in his throat. Each piece he picked up felt like a piece of himself, broken and scattered, but he forced himself to keep going, clinging to what little he had left.

“Pathetic,” one of the boys muttered, kicking a piece of candy across the room.

Rihaan closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. He couldn’t cry—not here, not in front of them. He had to be strong. He had to pretend, for his parents, for Raj, for the dreams they had for him. He had to make them proud, even if it meant lying, even if it meant pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

*****

The next few weeks blurred together in a haze of torment and isolation. Every night, Rihaan lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying every cruel word, every shove, every insult. He’d begun to lose weight, his once-bright eyes dimming with each passing day. The thought of telling his parents the truth crossed his mind, but each time, he pushed it away. They’d sacrificed so much for him—how could he burden them with his pain?

His parents called every Sunday, their voices warm and filled with love. “Are you doing okay, beta?” his mother would ask, her voice tinged with the worry she tried so hard to hide.

“Yes, Mom. I’m fine,” he would reply, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. He’d share stories about the imaginary friends he’d made, the pretend activities he’d enjoyed, weaving a tapestry of lies to protect them from the reality he faced every day.

“And your studies? Are you keeping up?” his father would ask, pride evident in his voice.

“Yes, Dad. I’m doing well,” he would say, the weight of his deceit pressing down on him. He knew they believed him, trusted him. They had no reason to doubt their son, the boy who had never lied to them before.

But each call ended with a hollow ache in his chest, a sense of guilt and betrayal that gnawed at him, day after day. He knew they were struggling, that they were sacrificing their comfort, their peace of mind, just to give him this chance. And he couldn’t bear to disappoint them, to let them know that all their efforts had only led him to a place of pain and loneliness.

*****

Years passed, and with each visit, Rihaan perfected his act. He would greet them with a smile, his posture straight, his voice steady. He would show them around the campus, pointing out places he’d never really enjoyed, pretending to be a part of a world that felt foreign and cold.

One day, his mother noticed the bruises on his arms, faint but visible beneath his sleeves. “Rihaan, what happened?” she asked, concern etched into her features as she reached out to touch the marks.

Rihaan pulled his sleeve down, shrugging casually. “Oh, nothing, Mom. Just a little roughhousing with friends. You know how boys are.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded, giving him a small smile. “Just be careful, okay? And remember, you can always tell us if something’s wrong.”

He nodded, his heart sinking. How could he tell her that these marks weren’t from play, but from something far darker? How could he burden her with the knowledge that her son, the one she’d sent away with so much hope, was suffering in silence?

*****

One evening, back at home, Raj looked through his textbooks, struggling to focus as thoughts of his younger brother filled his mind. Rihaan had always been the brilliant one, the one destined for greatness. Raj knew he would never match his brother’s academic prowess, and he didn’t mind. He’d chosen to stay behind, to allow Rihaan the chance to soar.

But lately, every letter he received from his brother felt distant, as though Rihaan was slipping away from him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that the cheerful words were a facade hiding something darker.

*****

In the years that followed, Rihaan’s act grew weaker. The strain of pretending, the weight of his secrets, began to wear on him. His grades slipped, his once-bright eyes grew dull, and his energy waned. Each night, he lay awake, haunted by the memories of every torment, every insult, every moment of fear and shame.

And yet, he kept going, clinging to the hope that one day, things would get better. He told himself that it was just a phase, that he would eventually find peace. But deep down, he knew that a part of him had been broken, a part that could never be repaired.

Through it all, he clung to the memory of his parents’ love, the sound of his brother’s laughter, the warmth of home. It was the only thing that kept him going, the only light in the darkness that surrounded him. And he promised himself that he would endure it, that he would survive—for them, if not for himself.

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