Pranbir Short Stories

Today, the towering gates of the prison swung open to release a convict who had served his sentence—not in full, but reduced for good behavior. After five long years behind bars, he finally stepped beyond those gates and into the world again.

Into a world that had undeniably changed and evolved, he now faced the daunting task of reintegration.
His dull, expressionless eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings—until they settled on a familiar face.
His brother stood there, waiting patiently.
A quiet sigh of relief escaped him as their eyes met, and a smile slowly spread across his face.
But the man who had just stepped outside wore no expression at all—his face a mask untouched by reunion or relief.

His brother broke into a brisk jog, almost galloping toward him, the weight of five years of waiting pressing behind each step.
He came to a sudden stop just inches away, taking a moment to really look at the man who now stood before him— changed.
Without another word, he pulled him into a tight embrace, as if trying to make up for all the lost time in that single moment.

The man flinched at the sudden contact, his body stiff and unyielding, as though it had forgotten the warmth of human touch.
But after a pause—long enough to feel the sincerity in his brother's hold—he slowly lifted his arms and returned the hug, uncertain yet present.

"I missed you so much, Ranbir," Aryan said, his voice thick with emotion, barely holding back the tears that had threatened him for years.

Ranbir pulled away from the hug, just enough to look at his younger brother. A faint, almost ghostly smile tugged at his lips—a mere flicker of warmth in an otherwise hollow expression.

But he said nothing. No words of comfort. No acknowledgment. Just silence, heavy and unspoken, hanging between them like a shadow of all that had changed.

Aryan noticed the silence, the absence of a reply—but he didn't press it. He understood.

"Let's go," he said softly, offering a gentle smile. "Everyone's waiting for you at home."

Ranbir gave a slight nod, the kind that barely moved his head, and wordlessly followed his brother to the car.

Aryan slid into the driver's seat while Ranbir took the passenger side, staring blankly out the window as the engine started—two brothers, side by side again, yet separated by all that had happened in the space between.

The car ride was enveloped in silence—thick, unyielding, and quickly growing uncomfortable for Aryan. The only sounds were the soft hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of passing traffic.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aryan glanced at his brother, hoping for some kind of conversation, some spark of familiarity. That's when he noticed it—a dark bruise peeking out from beneath the collar of Ranbir's shirt, stark against his pale skin.

His brows furrowed with concern. "Are you okay? Your neck..." he asked gently, trying not to sound intrusive.

Ranbir's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. "I am," he replied, short and clipped, his tone more guarded than reassuring. It wasn't just a refusal to elaborate—it was a clear wall going up.

But Aryan wasn't ready to let it go. His voice was quiet, yet insistent. "How did you get that bruise?"

Ranbir let out a soft sigh, barely audible over the hum of the car. His eyes didn't leave the road ahead.

"I was in jail," he said flatly. "A lot of things happened."

He paused, then added with a touch of finality, "No need to worry. It's a small injury. It'll fade soon."