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"Saying that a servant is merely at the beck and call of a master is a gross oversimplification," Bantu mused, the sun's fading glow casting long shadows as he drove his bike homeward. "He is also mercilessly tortured with these ceaseless commands... Sigh." The weariness in his bones was palpable, a heavyweight he carried from another taxing day.

Job hunting had become a seemingly endless ordeal, a relentless struggle only exacerbated by the daily torment he endured at the hands of his father. In the quiet of his thoughts, he questioned why he continued to endure this suffering. There appeared to be no redemption in his household; his father's disdain for him was painfully evident, and his family was powerless to intervene.

Bantu, however, recognized that he was not entirely honest with himself. Deep down, he knew why he remained. It was an insatiable yearning for the approval he knew he would never indeed receive from his father. A glimmer of hope that one day, his own flesh and blood would perhaps express love and care for him. It was a futile battle, but he couldn't bring himself to surrender.

This internal struggle threatened to consume him, but Bantu had mastered the art of concealing his emotional turmoil. He had become an expert at burying his feelings, donning a facade of indifference in the face of his father's relentless criticism and belittlement.

As he approached his home, the familiar sight of his mother waving at him from the front yard brought a much-needed respite to his wearied spirit. Her presence was like a guiding light, leading him toward a momentary sanctuary.

"Bantu, how was your day?" his mother inquired, a warm smile gracing her face.

"It was a day, Amma. A day I'm eager to put behind me," Bantu replied, stifling a yawn. His mother's smile widened; her pride in her son was evident in her eyes. Yet, he knew this tranquil moment would not last.

"Did you buy the pickles for your Nannamma?" His father's voice cut through the serenity, extinguishing the warmth like a sudden gust of wind. Bantu's annoyance welled up, but he fought to conceal it.

With a resigned sigh, he chose his words carefully, attempting to mask his frustration. "Yes, I bought them, Nanna. I mentioned it earlier when you asked me to buy the pumpkin."

 “I have to ask. Losers like you are always forgetful. Very bad.” His father's expression remained disdainful, his gaze piercing like a sharpened blade, “You should fulfill your duties without reminders. We are a middle-class family. Don’t forget your place in this house."

Bantu nodded in silence, aware of his mother's pained expression. He just wanted to get this interaction over with, to nod even if he disagreed. She stood at the crossroads between her son's emotional well-being and her husband's unyielding expectations.

Retreating to his shared room, Bantu couldn't help but ponder how different his life might have been if his father had shown him even a fraction of the love and support he extended to others, anyone but his own son.

That evening, lying in his bed, Bantu contemplated his future again. The feeling of entrapment weighed heavily on him, yet he clung to a glimmer of hope—a hope that one day, he might break free from the shackles of his father's disapproval and finally find the love and acceptance he so desperately yearned for.

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Hey Guys, I'm not dead. I've been busy and have not looked back at this in a hot minute. I will post a new chapter soon, so look forward to it. I have also finally figured out how the hell I'm going to write a slowburn romance (quasi slowburn....can it even be described as such?) in which the plot is not all over the place. I also decided to remove Gona Gana Reddy as much as it pains me to do so. His presence in Rudramadevi was so small that I had nothing to work with. Shout out to the one guy who commented 19 days ago. You're a real G. Same with the other person who wished me good luck on my exams. Huge warning: I am not Hindu, nor am I Indian. I have no idea if what I will write will fit in anyway, but I want to attempt. Let's see where this goes.