Prologue: Before the Roar
uresh Kulkarni was brilliant. Not in the way
that demanded attention, but in the way that quietly rearranged the world
around him—like a flame that warmed but never burned. He spoke less and thought
more. And somewhere along the way, he mistook silence for strength.
His passion—once vivid, once vocal—folded
inward. He shut the door on his own voice. Not out of cruelty, but out of fear.
Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being too much.
Anita adjusted. Not all at once. But slowly,
like a dancer learning to move without music. She stopped humming while
cooking. She stopped asking. She stopped expecting the rhythm to return.
Ria watched. She was young, outspoken, full
of questions. She didn’t understand the silence between her parents. So, she
filled it with her own noise—laughter, movement, rebellion. She thought she was
escaping it. She didn’t know she was inheriting it.
This isn’t a story of confrontation. It’s a
story of echoes. Of what happens when brilliance retreats, when love adapts,
and when a child learns to listen to what was never said.
Before the roar, there was quiet. And in that
quiet, everything began.
🦁 🦁 🦁
Ria in Suresh’s Study-
Flashback
he
air smelled faintly of old paper and camphor. The desk lamp cast a yellow pool,
dust motes drifting like secrets.
The
drawer groaned – untouched for years. Dust rose in a slow, accusatory swirl.
Beneath tax files, warranty slips, and a broken stapler, something waited.
A
manuscript. Bound. Titled. The Roar Within. Her father’s name on the
cover.
Ria
stared at it, heart thudding. “She felt her throat tighten. This wasn’t just
paper—it was a version of her father she’d never met.”
The pages
were yellowed but intact. Tucked beside it were envelopes—dozens of them.
Rejections. Some polite. Some brutal. One just said, “Not for us.”
She
didn’t hear the door. Just his voice.
“You
weren’t supposed to see that,” Suresh said.
He didn’t
snatch it away. Didn’t raise his voice. Just stood there, arms limp, eyes
unreadable.
Ria
turned to face him, manuscript still in hand.
“You
wrote a book?” she
asked, voice tight.
“A
long time ago,” he
said. “It didn’t matter.”
“It
mattered enough to hide.”
Suresh
l
ooked at the drawer like it had betrayed him. His jaw clenched, then softened.“I thought I’d finish it. Then I
thought I’d publish it. Then I stopped thinking about it.”
🐾
🔙
Flashback: Ria, Age 11
She remembered a night—years
ago—when she’d crept into the study for coloured pencils. Her father was at the
desk, typing. The room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp. He didn’t notice
her.
She
watched him pause, stare at the screen, then press backspace. Again, and again.
Then he closed the laptop, sighed, and turned off the light.
She’d
thought nothing of it then. Just a tired man ending his day.
Now she
knew better.
🐾
🧍♂️ Suresh’s Reaction
Suresh
sat down slowly, like the air had thickened.
“I
sent it out. Got rejected. I told myself I’d rewrite it. But life got louder.
You were growing up. Your mother needed help. The house needed repairs. The
silence was easier.”
Ria
didn’t speak. She couldn’t.
“I
didn’t want you to see it because I didn’t want you to think I was someone
else. Someone who tried and failed.”
“But
you were,” she said. “And I wish I’d known.”
He looked
at her then—really looked. There was shame in his eyes. And something else.
Pride, maybe. Or grief.
“You’re
angry.”
“I’m
not angry,”
she lied. “I’m... rewriting the story I thought I was living.”
🐾
🧠 Ria’s Journal Entry
August
20, I found his manuscript today. I didn’t know he’d written. Didn’t know he’d
tried. Didn’t know he’d buried it.
It’s
strange—how silence can shape a person. He taught me to be practical. To be
safe. But he once dreamed. And failed. And hid it. I’m not sure what hurts
more: the hiding or the giving up.
I want to read it. I want to understand him. But part of me is
scared. What if I find myself in his pages?
🐾
🎭 Visual Motif
That night, Ria placed the manuscript beside her own journal. Two
voices. One beginning. One buried.
She
didn’t know what she’d do with it yet. But she knew she wouldn’t put it back in
the drawer.
“She
didn’t know what she’d do with it yet. But she knew she wouldn’t let it be
buried again.”
🦁 🦁 🦁
.jpeg)
