Prison. 

Prison.

Wiping my tears, I kept mum, listening to him, and my breathing came out warm and dense.

Cuddling my baby to me, I sat there nonplussed with fear of losing the only family left: my little Shaurya. Wiping my tears repeatedly from my hands, I steadied my brother, making him sit on the opposite side of him. Away—as far as I could get from him in the provided space.

Silence.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence as I sat stiff and horrified with Shaurya on my lap. My crying had diminished with time. Nevertheless, my eyes and throat felt sore. And I found myself feeling dizzy and weak.

Later on, there was a moment of pregnant silence in the already heavy air within the car. He spoke softly.

"Don't ever cry like that. Ever! Do you hear me?" His voice held emotions of pain and anguish, though.

As if he were a human.

But I could be wrong. Because, logically speaking, how could someone like him even feel after having done something so monstrous to us? His face went pale w