Chapter 2: Stranger in His Own Home

Returning to his mother’s house felt like stepping into a foreign land filled with unfamiliar faces and cold walls. The small, crowded room that was supposed to be home now felt like a prison. The faces that should have been warm and welcoming looked like strangers. His own siblings stared at him with curiosity mixed with awkwardness, as if he were a guest who had overstayed his welcome. The language he spoke - the soft, loving words his grandmother had taught him - sounded different from theirs. He struggled to express himself, often mixing words, which only made the gap wider.

For weeks he cried endlessly. He cursed at his family through hot tears, threw tantrums, and begged anyone who would listen to send him back to his grandmother. “I want to go home,” he would scream, not understanding that this cramped room was now supposed to be his home. The pain of separation sat heavy in his small chest like a stone. Slowly, painfully, and with great reluctance, he began to adjust. He learned their ways, their slang, their silences. He stopped asking for his grandmother every day, but the ache never fully left him.

School became another battlefield. He found it nearly impossible to make friends. Perhaps it was his quiet and withdrawn nature now, or maybe no one wanted to get close to the boy from the notoriously poor family that lived squeezed into a single room. He would sit alone during lunch breaks, watching other children play and laugh, wondering what was wrong with him. Life settled into a grey, boring rhythm - waking up before sunrise, attending school with torn uniforms, returning home to the same cramped walls, and repeating the same cycle day after day. Joy felt like a distant memory.

His only source of warmth and light remained his elder brother. Their bond was still strong and beautiful. They would sneak out for late-night walks under the flickering streetlights when the rest of the house had fallen asleep. The elder brother, tall and full of stories, would share his thoughts about life, dreams, and girls. When the boy was thirteen, his brother pulled him aside one quiet evening, eyes shining with excitement, and whispered a precious secret: he liked a girl. It felt like the most thrilling news in the world. The younger brother’s chest swelled with pride. He promised to keep it safe, feeling honoured that his brother trusted him so deeply. Those moments under the night sky made him feel special again.

Then came the betrayal that shattered his world completely.

One ordinary day, without any warning or goodbye, his brother eloped with the girl. The entire family turned on the youngest boy like a pack of wolves. They shouted at him for hours, questioned him relentlessly, accused him of hiding information. “Where did he go? Who is the girl? Tell us everything you know!” They tried every method - anger, tears, threats - to pull the truth out of him. But he knew nothing. His brother had not told him a single detail before leaving. The person he loved and trusted most in the world had abandoned him without a word. The pain of that betrayal cut deeper than any knife. It left a wound that would never fully heal.

From that day forward, his freedom disappeared completely. He was no longer allowed to play outside. Speaking to girls or even neighbours was strictly forbidden. The whole neighbourhood gossiped about their disgraced family. Whispers followed him everywhere he went. He was angry at his brother, furious at the unfair blame placed on his shoulders, yet at night he still closed his eyes and prayed quietly that his brother was safe and happy somewhere far away.

The once bright and chaotic boy was slowly fading into shadow.

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