Months passed quietly, like rainwater slipping off an old rooftop.
Yash slowly began recovering, not completely healed, but at least learning how to breathe again. Every morning he climbed the narrow mountain path to the Dragon Temple—a tiny shrine made of cracked stone, with a carved dragon statue watching over the valley below. Yash heads there where
Zenro was always there before him, sitting cross-legged, waiting in silence.
They prayed together, not because they were religious, but because it was the only place where their minds finally stopped hurting. They want peace after fighting all day long
Sometimes they talked.
Sometimes they just watched the sunset bleed across the sky.
One evening, Zenro leaned back on the stone steps and asked, "So… what will you do now?"
Yash took a moment before answering.
"Nothing big. I just… wanna improve. Slowly."
"You left the gang for real?" Zenro asked.
"Yeah," Yash exhaled. "I don't want that life anymore. I don't want to fight to prove something I don't even believe in."
Zenro smiled softly. "Good, bro. That suits you better."
They joked, teased each other, talked about school, talked about dumb things, and for the first time in years, Yash felt something like peace.
As he walked home that evening, he even caught himself smiling.he is walking down home and thinks how his mom care for him but he never listens them but at now i will improve hell yeah
"What will Mom cook tonight?"
He wondered, rubbing his stomach like an excited kid.
"Hmm… yummy yummy, I'm coming, food!"
He reached his door, unlocked it, stepped inside—
—and felt water around his feet.
"Wha… what the—?"
He turned on the lights.
His heart fell out of his chest.
His mother's body was lying on the floor, soaked in blood, her eyes wide open, lifeless.
For a moment Yash forgot how to breathe. He forgot sound. Forgot movement.
Then his voice broke out of him, raw and painful, as he fell to his knees beside her.
He dialed the ambulance with trembling fingers. Police sirens arrived later, but none of their words reached him. His mind was a muddy storm of disbelief.
His mother—his only family—was gone.
The doctors confirmed it. Someone had broken in and killed her.
A murder.
That night, Yash sat on the floor of the empty house, staring at the wall. He didn't cry. He couldn't. His body was frozen. His brain refused to accept it.
The next days blurred together.
He didn't eat.
Didn't move.
Didn't clean anything.
He just lay in his bed like a dead soul trapped in a breathing body.
His grandmother sent him a letter saying she'd send money to help him pay bills, but Yash didn't even open the envelope. He didn't have the strength.
He slept with the lights off, the house silent except for the dripping tap in the kitchen—
the same tap that had overflowed the night he found her.
Two… three days passed.
Then someone banged on the door.
"Oi! Yash! Are you inside?"
It was Zenro.
When he entered the house, he froze.
The place smelled stale, the floor was messy, curtains were closed, dishes were unwashed. Something was wrong—very wrong.
He rushed to the bedroom and found Yash lying motionless on the bed, staring at nothing.
"Yash! Oye!"
No response.
Zenro grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
Still no answer.
So he slapped him across the face.
"WAKE UP, DUMBASS!"
Yash blinked slowly, like a dead man returning to life.
His eyes were red, swollen from silent tears.
Zenro's voice softened.
"Bro… what happened?"
Yash swallowed, lips trembling, and then everything spilled out—
the water, the body, the police, the loneliness, the fear, the emptiness.
Zenro listened without interrupting even once.
When Yash finished speaking, his voice cracked into a whisper, "I don't know what to do anymore…"
Zenro placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Brother… I'm here. You're not alone. I'll help you. I promise."
For the first time in days, Yash closed his eyes and exhaled. Someone was still with him. Someone still cared.
---
Now—back in the present time—
Yash stopped walking.
He stood beneath the giant tree near the Dragon Temple, the same place where he and Zenro used to sit every evening.
The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves.
Yash touched the bark and whispered:
"I think… this is where the past finally ends."
His eyes sharpened.
He could feel something—or someone—approaching.
The next chapter of his life was starting.
To be continued