When Krishanu came home that night, his body betrayed the story he couldn't tell.
Bruises on his jaw.
Dry blood on his sleeve.
A gash under his eyebrow.
He didn't say a word.
His grandparents saw him first, ashen with shock.
"What happened, beta? Who did this?" his grandfather asked, shaking with rage.
Krishanu didn't respond. He simply dropped his eyes and padded silently to his room.
His grandmother trailed behind, holding the first-aid kit.
She sat beside him, gently dabbing his wounds with cotton and antiseptic.
"What happened, Krishanu?" she asked softly.
He winced but didn't flinch. "Nothing, dadi… I just fell down."
She didn't believe him, of course. But she said nothing more. Only sighed, whispered a prayer, and continued cleaning his wounds.
---
Hours later, his parents returned from work.
When his mother saw him, bandaged and pale, her voice cracked between anger and worry.
"You fought again, didn't you? You broke your promise."
Krishanu did not look up. He couldn't.
His father folded his arms, his tone heavier.
"Who was it? How many were there? You fought four boys alone at school before — so how many this time, that they made you bleed this bad?"
Krishanu's voice sounded quiet, almost emotionless.
"It was just one."
His father scowled. "One?"
Krishanu nodded. "I didn't fight back. Not even once."
His mother stilled.
The rage in her eyes dissipated, replaced by guilt — the kind that sears deeper than anger.
She whispered, "You held your promise… even when he struck you?"
He nodded once more.
She stared at him — her son, battered but unmoving, holding a promise that shattered him from within.
Tears sprouted in her eyes.
---
His father drew a breath, his voice dropping to a hush.
"Krishanu… tell me sincerely. Why did he strike you?"
Krishanu looked at the ground, voice barely audible.
"I don't know who he was. I bumped into him by accident. I told him sorry, but he wouldn't listen."
There was silence.
Everyone in that house could hear the falsehood in his words.
His father sighed. "No one knocks up someone like this for just a bump."
He waited, then continued firmly,
"I know you wanted to keep your promise. But a vow to not fight back does not mean you are not allowed to defend yourself."
Krishanu gazed up for the first time. His father's voice was not irritated — it was even, serious.
"Do not initiate a fight with anyone," his mother added softly, completing his father's sentence.
But if somebody begins it… be the one to stop it. And don't let anybody bully you like that again."
---
Something within Krishanu changed that night.
Part of him — the part which had held back, which had felt patience conquers all — quietly passed away.
The restraint that kept him trapped, the promise that bound his fists, was no more.
He glanced up at his parents and smiled ever so slightly.
"Thanks," he said.
Not because he was a rebel, not because he was arrogant — but because he understood.
That evening, as he looked up at the ceiling in bed, the words of his mother came ringing back to him like an oath etched into his heart.
"Don't start a fight. But if you do… finish it."
And with that, the boy who had never dared to lift his hand — even when it was broken — learned his second lesson.
The first was "People use others."
The second was "Never get beaten twice."
---
To be continued.
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