Part 1: A Life Unloved

  Young Rohan sat on the frozen branch, his small form curled into itself like a creature that had learned early that the world was not safe. Ice crystals formed in his hair as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of suffering.

  "I was born in a village," he began. "Small. Poor. Everyone knew everyone. And everyone knew my family was... wrong."

  The mindscape around them shifted as he spoke. Arjun watched as memories materialized—not seen, but felt. The sensations washed over him like cold water.

  *A cramped hut rested atop dirt floor. The smell of cheap alcohol and unwashed bodies. A child, maybe four years old, cowered in a corner while shadows screamed at each other.*

  "My father drank," Rohan continued, his child's voice hollow. "Everything we had, he drank. And when he ran out of money, he got angry. When he got angry..."

  *Fists descended. Pain. A child's cry cut short by a hand over his mouth. 'Shut up. You want the neighbors to hear? You want them to think we're animals?'*

  "My mother wasn't better. She blamed me for everything. For the poverty. For my father's drinking. For existing." A bitter laugh from a child's throat. "She said I was born wrong. That I brought bad luck. That they would have been happy if not for me."

  Arjun felt his heart breaking. He'd grown up poor too—he understood hunger, understood want. But he'd never understood this. Diya had loved him. Even in their worst moments, he'd known he was loved.

  "Rohan, I'm so sorry—"

  "Don't." The child's voice was sharp. "I'm not done."

  *A village well appeared in front of them. Other children laughed and played. A small boy approached and hoped— always hoped— to be included. Stones thrown. Names called. 'Get away from us! Your family is cursed! Don't touch him, you'll catch his bad luck!'*

  "The village looked down on us. On me. I was the drunk's son. The crazy woman's child. I didn't have friends. I didn't have anyone."

  His small hands clenched into fists.

  "I was hungry all the time. My parents spent everything on alcohol, on gambling, on anything but food. I learned to steal before I learned to read. Fruit from the market. Bread from the baker. Whatever I could grab and run."

  *A boy, maybe seven, got caught. The merchant's fist mercilessly struck him, blood splattered on the ground. 'Filthy thief! Get out of my village! You're nothing but trash!'*

  "I was alone," young Rohan whispered. "Always alone. Even when there were people around, I was alone."

  ---

  Part 2: Running

  The branch beneath them grew colder as the story continued. Frost crept up Arjun's legs, but he didn't move. Didn't look away.

  "I ran away when I was fifteen," Rohan said. "Couldn't take it anymore. My father had beaten me so badly I couldn't see out of one eye for a week. My mother told me it was my fault for making him angry."

  *A road in the dark. A teenager walked, walked and walked with nowhere to go. No one was waiting for him anywhere in the world.*

  "I ended up in the city. Dehradun. I thought it would be better, or at least different."

  He laughed again—that same hollow, broken sound.

  "It wasn't."

  *Sleeping under bridges. Fighting other homeless youth for scraps. Running from police who saw street kids as pests to be removed. The cold, endless, grinding despair.*

  "Everyone I met used me or abandoned me. There was a gang leader who seemed kind at first—gave me food, gave me a place to sleep. Then he wanted me to do things. Hurt people. Steal for him. When I refused..."

  *He got beaten up in a dark alley. Bruises lined his body making him a canvas of a divine yellow and corrupted purple. He was left in the gutter like garbage.*

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  "I spent three days lying in that alley before I could move again. No one helped. Hundreds of people walked by. They saw me, they just... kept walking."

  Arjun's throat was tight. He wanted to speak, to offer some comfort, but what could he possibly say? What words could make any of this okay?

  "I thought about dying," young Rohan admitted quietly. "A lot. I used to sit by the train tracks and think about how easy it would be. Just step forward. Just let go."

  *A teenager, hollow-eyed and skeletal, sat on a platform edge as trains rushed by. Each one an invitation.*

  "I didn't know why I kept going. I had nothing to live for. No one who would miss me. But something in me just... wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop."

  He looked at Arjun with eyes that were centuries old in a child's face.

  "I thought I was worthless, that I deserved the pain. That everything that happened was my punishment for being born wrong."

  ---

  Part 3: Tara

  The branch warmed slightly. Just a degree. Just enough to notice. "Then I met her."

  Young Rohan's voice changed when he said the word. The ice in it melted, just a little. Just enough for something else to shine through.

  "Tara."

  *A small restaurant. Cramped, dirty, but warm. The smell of cooking food—real food. A boy standing outside in the rain, staring through the window at customers eating.*

  "I was nineteen. Starving. I'd been watching that restaurant for days, trying to figure out how to steal something without getting caught."

  *A girl emerged from the back. Young—maybe eighteen. Her hair was pulled back and the apron she wore was stained with kitchen work. She noticed the boy in the rain and didn't look away like everyone else.*

  "She came outside. I thought she was going to chase me off just like everyone else did."

  *"You look like you could use a friend."*

  *The boy stared, not understanding why she was speaking to him. Friendship wasn't something that happened to people like him.*

  *"Come on, I'm on break, I'll buy you something to eat."*

  "She bought me food," Rohan said, wonder still present in his voice even now. "She sat with me while I ate. She asked my name. She actually... listened."

  The branch was definitely warmer now. Spring beginning to touch the edges of eternal winter.

  "No one had ever done that before. Treated me like a person. Like I mattered."

  *Weeks passed. The boy returned to the restaurant again and again, the girl always made time for him and blessed him with small acts of kindness— a meal, a conversation, a smile that expected nothing in return. They may not have been difficult for her, but to Rohan it meant the world*

  "She was quirky," Rohan smiled—actually smiled, and for a moment Arjun could see the man he might have been. "She made terrible jokes. She laughed too loud. She had this way of seeing good in everything, even when there wasn't any good to see."

  *Two young people were now walking along the river at sunset. Their hands were touching, hesitant and new. A first kiss that tasted like hope.*

  "She saw me. Not the thief. Not the drunk's son. Not the street kid. She saw Rohan. And she loved him anyway."

  *"You're not worthless," she told him once, wiping tears from his face. "You're the strongest person I know. You survived things that would have broken anyone else. That's not nothing. That's everything."*

  "We were together for two years. Two years of actually being happy. Of having someone who chose me. Someone who stayed."

  His voice cracked.

  "She was everything. My whole world. The only good thing that had ever happened to me."

  ---

  Part 4: Losing Her

  The warmth fled as quickly as it had come. The branch turned to ice again. Frost climbed higher. "She got sick."

  *A cough that wouldn't go away, coupled with severe weight loss. Doctors with grim faces.*

  "She was diagnosed with a chronic condition, it needed constant, expensive medication to be managed. The village was cheaper than the city— one room, borrowed space, slower days— and while no one truly helped us, it was the only place where we could afford to stay together while I tried to earn for the both of us."

  *As a young man he worked three jobs, never got sleep or proper meals. He couldn't even dream of such luxuries, every rupee had to go to medicine, to his world.*

  "I tried everything. I worked until I collapsed. I begged. I borrowed from people who charged terrible interest. I sold everything I had—not that I had much."

  *Tara got worse. The medicine only slowed the decline, but couldn't do anything to stop it. Rohan watched helplessly as the person he loved faded before his eyes.*

  "It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough."

  *They were left with an empty medicine bottle. He tore apart their tiny room looking for money that didn't exist. Tara laid in bed, too weak to stand, and watched him with sad, understanding eyes.*

  *"Rohan, please stop." she begged weakly*

  *"I can't. I can't lose you. I CAN'T."*

  *"You're killing yourself."*

  *"I don't care. I don't care about anything except saving you."*

  "The day it happened," young Rohan continued, "we had nothing. No food. No medicine. She was barely conscious. I knew if I didn't get her medication that day, she would..."

  He couldn't finish the sentence.

  *He was a desperate man, scanning the market. He didn't have the heart to steal money from anymore, he just wanted food. He snatched some fruits from a vendor and ran. The chase ensued. He could feel himself slowing down and left with no choice, he listened to the voice in his head and sprinted for the temple. Thinking he was safe, Rohan calmed down, until he saw another young man stood in front of him. Not wanting to get caught he had to make a run for it. Their bodies crashed together, and Rohan heard a loud crash behind him, but he couldn't stop, not if he wanted to save Tara.*

  "That's when I met you," Rohan said. "That's when everything changed."

  ---