Frigophile — a boy who loved the cold, and the silence of being alone.
This is the story of a boy named Seebi, born on 21st December, a true Gen Z child, into a family that believed itself to be rare and superior to others. A family that valued reputation over emotions, traditions over humanity, and pride over love.
They considered themselves different — better — which slowly poisoned their relationships with relatives. To protect their so‑called honor, they insisted on marrying within the family, believing that this would preserve their name and respect. But in reality, it destroyed lives. Everyone deserves the right to choose their own life partner — someone they can love, understand, and grow old with. This family never understood that.
Seebi's parents were also bound by an arranged marriage. They never truly understood each other. Misunderstandings ruled their relationship to such an extent that when arguments happened, silence replaced communication. They could go days without speaking. If their first child had not been a son, their marriage might not have survived at all — because in their mindset, the birth of a daughter was not a moment of joy, but of shame.
Seebi was born a year after their marriage — their first son. He was weak, fragile, and cried constantly. His mother loved him deeply. She was an innocent, soft‑hearted woman who had married only to fulfill her father's wishes — to strengthen family bonds and protect traditions. She worried endlessly about Seebi. Sometimes, while he slept, she would quietly check his breathing, afraid that something might happen to her fragile child.
His father was not a bad man — but he was young when responsibility fell on his shoulders. He started a business early and became a successful businessman, yet emotionally, he remained distant. He never learned how to understand feelings — not his wife's, not his children's. He trusted his sister blindly, believing she could never wish him harm.
Seebi's aunt — his uncle's wife — constantly praised Seebi's father falsely, feeding his ego while silently turning his parents against each other. Their house became a battlefield of blame and bitterness. Arguments were constant. Instead of resolving conflicts, silence and resentment ruled their home. Anger found its easiest target — the children.
Seebi had a younger brother, Muna, and a sister, Ashi. Muna was his mother's favorite, Ashi was his father's princess. When Seebi was only eleven months old, Muna was born — and Seebi slowly disappeared from their attention. Love was replaced by neglect.
Growing up surrounded by fights, insults, and physical punishment, Seebi became a child with shattered confidence. He feared speaking in front of others. Words failed him. Face‑to‑face conversations terrified him — not because he lacked intelligence, but because he lacked belief in himself.
The only place he felt safe was with his grandmother.
She loved him unconditionally. To Seebi, she was the only one who truly cared. The only one who listened. The only one who chose love over judgment. She never refused him anything. Whatever Seebi asked for, she gave — not because he demanded, but because she understood his silence.
Seebi lived with his grandparents, slept beside them, and found peace there. He loved art and drawing, and he was exceptionally good at it. At school, he was known for his drawings. Academically, he performed well too — but no achievement was ever enough for his parents. They were never satisfied. Reputation mattered more than his happiness.
Whenever they saw him drawing, they called it a waste of time. Their words carved fear into him. He never shared his thoughts, his dreams, or his pain with them. His parents were not people he could trust — they were people he feared.
Yet, life does not remain the same forever.
A change was waiting for Seebi — one that would soon redefine who he was.