Silences Between Hearts ~ A Rumya SS ~ Chapter 2 on pg 1

Written on the lines of the film Punjabi House, this story follows a young man burdened by debt who fakes his death and hides in a Punjabi household under disguise. Silent and unrecognizable, he faces guilt, comedy, and danger, while fate reunites him with his mourning love, testing loyalty, identity, and the strength of love.

Chapter 1 (Drowning in Shadows)

The Weight of the World

The Oberoi Mansion had always been the symbol of wealth, power, and prestige. Its white marble pillars stood tall, the chandeliers glittered with arrogance, and the gardens bloomed in perfect order. To the world, it was paradise—a fortress of privilege where every dream could be bought with money.

But in his room, behind the heavy teak doors, Rudra Singh Oberoi sat at his desk, drowning in bills, loans, and unpaid dues. For everyone else, he was the youngest Oberoi—the spoilt, happy-go-lucky, fitness-obsessed charmer. But the truth was that Rudra was collapsing under the weight of responsibilities he had never learned to carry.

He slammed another bill onto the pile.

“Damn it… how much more can I take?” he muttered under his breath, fingers pulling at his hair. “On one side, the debts… on the other, the Oberoi name. I can’t handle either.”

His chest burned with shame. The sting of failure was worse than the sting of any enemy’s insult.

The Roots of Debt

It hadn’t started overnight. Rudra had always wanted to be more than “the youngest Oberoi brother.” Shivaay had the business empire in his grip. Omkara had his art and calm wisdom. Rudra? He was the entertainer, the muscle, the one everyone laughed with but never really took seriously.

And so, when the fitness craze swept the country, Rudra saw his chance.
“I’ll make Oberoi Fitness the biggest chain in India,” he had told his father Tej proudly. “Not just gyms, but lifestyle centers. Training, weight loss, confidence-building. People will remember the name Rudra Singh Oberoi for more than my abs.”

At first, it worked. His gyms attracted crowds. His social media influence grew. The youngest Oberoi was finally making something of himself.

But Rudra had always lived fast, trusted too easily, and believed success would never betray him. He hired flashy trainers, rented expensive spaces in prime locations, and invested in gimmicky equipment. Money poured out faster than it came in.

A crooked partner swindled him. Equipment suppliers demanded payments he couldn’t cover. Then, as fate would have it, a rival chain opened next door to two of his prime gyms. Within months, the shine wore off. His once-crowded gyms turned into empty halls echoing with failure.

Loans piled up. Banks called. Suppliers threatened. And Rudra, too proud to admit his mistakes, too stubborn to ask his brothers for help, began sinking in quicksand.

The Burden of Being Tej’s Son

Tej Singh Oberoi was a man of ruthless ambition. He had once looked at Rudra with a glint of pride, but now, every word he spoke carried disappointment.

“Shivaay handles the empire. Omkara has his art. And you, Rudra? You were supposed to prove yourself in your own way. Instead, you’ve turned into a liability!”

Rudra had stood silently as Tej’s words lashed him. Inside, he wanted to scream: I’m trying, Dad. I wanted to make you proud, not ashamed. But the words never left his lips.

His mother, Jhanvi, was kinder. She placed her hand on his shoulder when Tej wasn’t looking. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders, Rudra. You’re still my child. You’ll figure this out.”

But even her love couldn’t quiet the gnawing sense of inadequacy inside him.

The Brothers He Couldn’t Face

Shivaay and Omkara were more than cousins; they were his pillars. The “Oberoi Brothers”—a trio unbreakable to the world. But in Rudra’s eyes, his brothers were shining stars he could never touch.

Shivaay, with his business acumen and icy confidence, could negotiate with the devil himself and win. Omkara, with his artistic soul and moral compass, drew respect from everyone he met.

And him? Rudra was the clown who made jokes to hide that he was terrified of becoming invisible.

“How could I face them?” Rudra whispered to himself. “How do I tell Shivaay that the brother who mocked balance sheets now drowns in them? How do I tell Om that I’m not strong, not wise, just… empty?”

Soumya—His Anchor

When everything else fell apart, there was still Soumya.

She wasn’t dazzled by his surname or his six-pack abs. She had seen the boy behind the mask—the Rudra who feared failure, who hated loneliness, who desperately wanted to be loved for who he was, not what he looked like.

It was Soumya who had first encouraged him to start his fitness chain. “You’re not just muscles, Rudra. You know how to motivate people. You make them believe in themselves. That’s your real strength.”

And it was Soumya who stayed even when it all collapsed.

That evening, as the bills blurred in front of his eyes, Rudra’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up with the name that still had the power to soften his heart—Soumya.

He picked up, his voice trembling.
“Hey, Sumo…”

“Rudra, are you crying?” she asked immediately, her voice laced with concern.

He wiped his tears, though she couldn’t see them. “No… just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I know you,” Soumya said softly. “You always smile in front of everyone, but inside you’re breaking. Don’t hide it from me, Rudra.”

Her words pierced through the walls he built around himself. His throat tightened. “Soumya… if it weren’t for you, I would’ve ended it all long ago. You’re the only reason I’m alive.”

The silence on the other end was heavy but comforting. She didn’t need explanations—she understood him in a way no one else ever had.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m with you, Rudra. Always.”

Those words—simple, unshaken, loyal—were Rudra’s lifeline. He clung to them as though they were oxygen.

Flashback: The Almost Kiss

As he sat in the darkness of his room, Rudra’s mind drifted back to a memory—a night that had started sweet but ended in humiliation.

It had been at Soumya’s house, during one of those evenings when their families had gathered. Soumya’s father, Mr. Kapoor, was a respected businessman and an old ally of the Oberois. To him, Rudra was the reckless Oberoi boy who had no real direction.

But that evening, Rudra hadn’t cared. He had sneaked away with Soumya into the library, their laughter hushed, their shoulders brushing as they teased each other.

“You know,” Soumya had said, lowering her voice, “for someone who claims to be a ladies’ man, you blush way too easily.”

Rudra leaned closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “Only with you, Sumo. Others don’t matter.”

Their laughter died into silence as their faces drew nearer. His hand found hers. For a moment, the world held its breath—the distance between them was a heartbeat away from dissolving.

And then—

“Soumya!” her father’s voice thundered as the door burst open.

They sprang apart, guilt painted on their faces. Mr. Kapoor’s furious eyes landed on Rudra.

“You! In my house, with my daughter? How dare you?”

“Uncle—” Rudra began, but his voice cracked.

“Get out!” Mr. Kapoor roared. “You may be an Oberoi, but you’re good for nothing. You think I’d ever let my daughter waste her life on a boy who can’t even handle his own?”

The words sliced through Rudra. For once, he didn’t fight back. With humiliation burning in his chest, he turned and walked out, leaving Soumya calling after him, her eyes filled with tears.

That night, Rudra had stood outside, fists clenched, shame searing his veins. He had sworn he’d prove himself—not just to Soumya’s father, but to the world.

Yet here he was now, years later, drowning in debts, his father ashamed, Soumya’s father proven right.

The Shadow of Despair

Night deepened. Rudra walked to the window and stared at the endless sky. The stars glittered, mocking his insignificance.

He whispered into the darkness, his voice breaking, “Sumo… you’re my life. If you’re not there… I won’t be either.”

He imagined a world without Soumya, and the thought hollowed him out completely.

As the mansion slept in silence, Rudra clenched his fists. The weight of the world crushed him. He had failed his father, failed his family, failed himself. Only Soumya kept him alive—but for how long?

His mind wandered to a dangerous thought: Maybe if I disappear… their burdens will disappear too.

The Silent Escape

The night was heavy. The city’s lights blurred in Rudra’s vision as he walked along the deserted pier. The ocean whispered promises of release, the waves lapping against the rocks like the pulse of some dark heartbeat. Each step felt heavier than the last, each breath tighter.

He had tried to smile, to joke, to lift the crushing weight of debts off his shoulders, but nothing had worked. Every lender’s call, every unpaid bill, every disappointed glance from Tej Singh Oberoi had piled upon him like stones. And now, standing on the edge, the thought that had haunted him for months felt almost logical: one final step, and the world’s burdens could vanish along with him.

Yet even in the darkest corner of his mind, one memory flickered like a fragile candle—Soumya’s smile, soft and unwavering, her voice like a whisper of hope.

“I’m with you, Rudra. Always.”

Her words were the only lifeline holding him from plunging completely. He closed his eyes, imagining her gaze, steady and gentle, reminding him he wasn’t truly alone. He could not—would not—disappear with Soumya’s hope tethering him.

But even that fragile hope was not enough to lift the suffocating despair. Rudra’s body shook, the world spinning around him, the waves calling out like sirens.

“Sumo…” he whispered into the dark, “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on…”

Before he could take the final step, a firm hand grabbed his shoulder. The sudden grip made him stumble.

“Rudra!” A voice cut through the roar of the ocean—stern, commanding, impossibly familiar.

Rudra turned to see Shivaay Singh Oberoi, his cousin, eyes blazing, body tense with concern and frustration. Behind him, leaning casually on the railing with a smirk plastered across his face, was Omkara Singh Oberoi, who looked far too amused for the gravity of the situation.

“Shivaay… Om…” Rudra’s voice trembled. “I—I just…”

“You almost just threw your life into the sea,” Shivaay snapped, his tone sharp, but underneath, worry peeked through. “Do you have any idea what kind of idiot would do this?”

“I… I can’t—” Rudra tried to speak, but the words died in his throat.

Omkara, ignoring the drama, leaned closer and whispered theatrically, “Bhai, you really picked a scenic spot for a meltdown. The lighting is perfect for a tragic music video, but could you not have chosen somewhere with a Wi-Fi signal? I might want to stream this later.”

Rudra blinked, half in shock, half in disbelief. And somehow, despite everything, a small, dry laugh escaped him.

Shivaay’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Laugh all you want. I’ll leave you in the water next time.”

“Shivaay!” Omkara gasped, feigning horror. “Threatening him? You’re worse than Tej Tauji!”

Rudra’s knees weakened, and he sank onto the pier, letting the cousins guide him back to solid ground.

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To be continued.

Chapter 2 (Shadows of Survival)

The Rescue and the Plan

Back at the Oberoi mansion, Rudra slouched on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the floor. Shivaay paced, fists clenched. Omkara lounged on the armrest, munching on a granola bar, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re insane,” Shivaay said finally. “You can’t keep doing this, Rudra. Debts, shame, humiliation—it’ll crush you.”
“I know…” Rudra whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know what else to do.”
“You do this again,” Omkara chimed in, “and the next time I’m dumping you in the fountain in front of Dadi. Public humiliation, guaranteed.”
“Enough joking, Om,” Shivaay said, his tone softening slightly. “Look, Rudra. There’s a way out of this mess without you… disappearing.”

Rudra looked up, hope flickering. “A way?”

“Yes,” Shivaay continued, “we’ll get you out of the city for a while. You’ll stay with a family of… generous Punjabis who think you’re… different. You’ll play deaf and mute. They’ll believe you can’t speak, and while they take care of you, we figure out how to clear your debts.”

Rudra’s mouth fell open. “You want me to… lie?”
“It’s not just lying,” Shivaay said. “It’s survival. And you need survival right now.”
Omkara leaned forward, grinning. “And honestly, little bro, think about it. You’ll be a mysterious silent hero. Women love silent heroes. Maybe this time Sumo will finally notice you without shouting.”

Rudra’s heart skipped. Soumya… even the thought of her kept him tethered. Maybe this ridiculous plan was the only way to prove himself worthy again.
“I… I’ll do it,” he said finally, voice barely audible. “For… for her.”

Shivaay’s eyes softened, Omkara smirked, and for the first time that night, Rudra felt a sliver of hope.

The Fake-Death Ruse

Before leaving, Shivaay and Omkara added a twist to the plan.

“Here’s the fun part,” Shivaay said, leaning close. “We’ll tell everyone you… didn’t make it. A tragic accident. Your ‘death’ will buy us time to fix everything.”
Rudra froze. “Death? They’ll—”
“They’ll grieve,” Omkara said dramatically, “but think about it—no lenders, no pressure. You get a fresh start. Everyone thinks you’re gone, and we work behind the scenes. Plus, it’ll shock Sumo enough to… motivate her to survive without you.”

Rudra swallowed hard, heart hammering. The plan was cruel, but effective.

The Silent Comedy Begins

The following morning, as they prepared Rudra for the plan, Omkara couldn’t resist poking fun.

“Wear the kurta we bought. Trust me, you’ll look tragic but respectable.”

“I don’t want to look tragic!” Rudra groaned.

“Exactly,” Omkara said, grinning. “You’ll be tragic and stylish. Punjabis won’t know what hit them. And don’t forget the finishing touches—a fake beard and turban. Instant mysterious hero.”

Shivaay rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. Just remember: mute, deaf, humble. No arguing, no explaining. Let them underestimate you. That’s the key.”

Rudra nodded, feeling a mix of dread and determination.

He stared at the mirror as Omkara handed him the fake beard. Carefully, Rudra stuck it on, feeling ridiculous as it slid slightly at the corners. Shivaay leaned over, adjusting it with a precise tug. “There. Now you look… tragic but noble.”

Next came the turban. Rudra struggled to wrap it properly, the fabric too long and unwieldy, looping around his head like a comedy prop. Omkara snickered, “Perfect. You look like a silent Punjabi hero straight out of a movie.”

Rudra sighed, finally seeing his reflection: the kurta, the turban, the beard, all combining into a carefully constructed mask of dignity and mystery. He flexed his fingers nervously, reminding himself that behind this disguise, he had a mission—and a love that awaited him.

If pretending to be helpless meant buying time, he would do it. And through it all, Soumya’s face floated in his mind—a reminder that the man she loved was still very much alive inside him.

Arrival at the Punjabi Household

As the three cousins approached the sprawling courtyard of the Punjabi household, laughter, music, and the aroma of butter-laden dishes greeted them. Rudra’s stomach knotted.

“You ready for this?” Shivaay asked.
Rudra took a deep breath. “I have to be. For her… for Soumya.”

Omkara clapped him on the back. “Now go be mysterious and silent. Let the Punjabis fall in love with your tragic charm. You got this.”

Stepping forward, Rudra was immediately engulfed by the household’s chaos—children running, elders shouting, and the smell of freshly cooked food. For the first time in months, he felt a spark of life, a reason to fight, guided by Soumya’s unwavering belief in him.

First Encounter with Bhavya: The Silent Act

The first person he noticed was Bhavya, carrying a tray of steaming parathas. She stopped mid-step, tilting her head, sharp eyes studying him.

Rudra, sensing her gaze, gave a solemn bow and placed a hand over his chest. Then, to reinforce his deaf act, he exaggerated a confused look, looking around as if trying to hear her words but hearing nothing.

Bhavya frowned, pointing at him and miming speaking with exaggerated gestures. She tapped her own ears, then gestured to his, clearly asking, “Can you hear me?”

Rudra shook his head slowly, maintaining the deaf facade, and nodded solemnly to indicate he understood her gestures—but he was only pretending.

Bhavya’s eyes narrowed playfully, then she tapped the tray, mimicking a warning: “Careful! Hot!” Rudra jumped slightly, pretending to mishear her warning. He flailed his arms dramatically, almost dropping the tray, then caught it with exaggerated relief.

Omkara, watching from the doorway, whispered to Shivaay, “Step one: intrigue. Step two: comedy. Step three: Bhavya is totally hooked on his silent, tragic charm.”
Shivaay muttered, “Step four: survive financially. Don’t get distracted.”

From that moment, a silent camaraderie formed. Every nod, gesture, and exaggerated reaction strengthened their bond—without a single word exchanged. And in the back of his mind, Soumya’s face floated as always, reminding him why he endured this elaborate charade.

Early Silent Bonding

Over the next few days, Rudra and Bhavya’s interactions became a carefully choreographed silent comedy:

· Kitchen Antics: Bhavya flicked water toward Rudra. He pretended not to notice, then slowly reacted with exaggerated gestures, spilling a little for dramatic effect.

· Chore Coordination: Folding clothes or carrying baskets became comic routines, punctuated by exaggerated nods, shrugs, and serious expressions.

· Accidental Touches: Hands brushed while reaching for the same spice. Bhavya gave him a sharp look; Rudra exaggerated his apology silently.

· Children’s Mischief: Kids tugged at his kurta or pranked him. Rudra reacted as if he couldn’t hear, turning each encounter into a silent performance.

Omkara whispered from the balcony, “Step one: he survives. Step two: Bhavya falls silently in love. Step three: comedy gold.”
Shivaay sighed. “Step four: focus on finances, little brother. The romance is… incidental.”

Rudra’s internal struggle never left him. Even as the silent bond with Bhavya grew, his heart remained with Soumya, the anchor he couldn’t abandon—even in the midst of this elaborate charade.

The Oberois’ Heartbreak

Meanwhile, back in the mansion, Shivaay and Omkara executed the fake-death story with precision. News of Rudra’s “death” spread like wildfire.

The Oberois were inconsolable. Tej’s normally stoic face cracked, Jhanvi’s tears flowed freely, and even Omkara pretended to mourn—though secretly, he was suppressing a smirk.

But none were hit harder than Soumya. When she heard the news, she crumpled to the floor, wailing in disbelief. The world had lost Rudra—the boy she had always loved, the anchor of her life.

“No… this can’t be… Rudra…” she whispered over and over, her voice shaking.

Her father, Mr. Kapoor, tried to console her. “Sumo, listen… he’s alive somewhere. It’s a plan, we’ll—”
“No!” she shouted, tears streaming. “You don’t understand! He’s gone! My Rudra… my husband in my heart… gone!”

Tears carved rivers down her cheeks as she dressed in muted colors, a silent tribute to the man who had been her life. Every accessory she removed, every piece of jewelry set aside, every small change in her demeanor reflected her vow: to live as Rudra’s widow, even if he was still breathing somewhere.

Quiet Resolve

That evening, Rudra sat on the veranda of the Punjabi household, the sun dipping low and casting golden light over the courtyard. Children’s laughter echoed around him, the aroma of freshly baked parathas still lingering. He watched Bhavya as she tended to them, her gentle movements and playful smiles painting a picture of normalcy he had longed for.

Yet his thoughts always drifted to Soumya. Her face appeared in his mind, tear-streaked but resolute, mourning him as her husband. A pang of guilt and longing gripped him. He had never imagined that faking his death could hurt her so deeply, but the thought of her love tethered him more firmly than any fear of failure.

He clenched his fists, whispering to himself, “I’ll survive this… for her. I’ll fix everything and come back to her. She deserves the real Rudra, not this shadow she mourns.”

The wind rustled the leaves around him, carrying with it a strange sense of hope. Though he was pretending to be mute and deaf, the silent promise he made to himself and to Soumya resonated loudly in his heart.

Rudra took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and smiled faintly. He was ready to face the days ahead—the laughter, the silent comedy, the challenges, and the lessons. And in that quiet resolve, a spark of the man Soumya loved flickered again, waiting for the moment it could shine fully.

The day ended with Rudra sitting among strangers who would become his unexpected family, while somewhere far away, Soumya’s mourning kept him alive—a bittersweet tether across the distance, binding their hearts in silence and hope.

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To be continued.

He is drowning in debt and too proud to ask for help. Would he get help and advice if he asks?

Thankfully, his cousins found him and stopped him from throwing his life away. They seem like good souls who would help.

Thats the plan they came up with? Now there is Bhavya who is likely to form an attachment to him. Then he will have to let her down.