My name is Anshul, and I was born and raised in Port Blair, in the Andaman Islands. When people ask why I moved away from my hometown for college in Delhi, I tell them it’s because I wanted a bigger future. What I never expected was that my college life would introduce me to a boy whose story would become one of the saddest I’ve ever witnessed. His name was Aarav Patel, and sadly, every word of it could happen to anyone. This is Aarav’s story.
It was during our first week of college that I met Aarav. He was quiet, intelligent, and unusually kind. While most students were preoccupied with impressing everyone, Aarav spent his time helping strangers find their classrooms and sharing notes. We became friends almost immediately; there was something lonely about him that I couldn’t quite grasp at the time. Years later, it would all make sense.
Aarav came from a family that looked perfect from the outside. His father was respected in the community, his mother was educated, and his younger sister, Ananya, was bright and ambitious. But beneath this façade lay a toxic world of favoritism. Aarav was the golden child—not through any effort of his own, but simply because he was born a son. Everyone saw it; relatives praised him while Ananya watched, accumulating anger and resentment. Children see unfairness more than adults realize, and while Aarav enjoyed privileges he never asked for, Ananya felt robbed of a life she believed was rightfully hers.
As time passed, another secret emerged: Aarav was gay. He confided in me one rainy evening during our second year. He was terrified, not of my reaction, but of the world’s reaction. I assured him, “You are still my friend,” and as he cried silently, I knew he had been carrying this weight for far too long. From that day forward, I became the only person who knew.
Eventually, Aarav met Rohan. For the first time, I saw genuine happiness in him as the two spent years planning futures and sharing dreams. I believed they would stay together forever. I was wrong.
Then came the disaster. Aarav introduced Rohan to his family, and at first, everything seemed normal. But soon, Ananya started spending time with Rohan, engaging in long conversations and private messages. Aarav, trusting both of them completely, had no idea what was about to unfold. One night, he called me, his voice broken, “Anshul, Ananya and Rohan are together.” I froze. “What?” I couldn’t comprehend it until he confirmed it. His sister had begun a relationship with the man he loved.
When Aarav confronted them, neither Rohan nor Ananya denied it or apologized. Instead, years of pent-up anger erupted. Ananya accused Aarav of stealing their parents’ love and the life she believed was hers. It was heartbreaking because he wasn’t responsible for any of it, yet he became the target of their misguided resentment.
Within months, Rohan left Aarav entirely, marrying Ananya soon after. To make matters even worse, she became pregnant, and the entire family celebrated the betrayal. Posts filled social media, documenting the joyous occasion while Aarav barely survived in the shadows. Then came the final blow: Ananya revealed Aarav’s sexuality to their parents. The fallout was catastrophic. His father lashed out, relatives hurled insults, and Aarav, once the favored son, was now a disgrace.
For weeks, Aarav disappeared from my life, and when he finally called, his voice was void of emotion. He left India for Dublin, seeking refuge from a past that had become a nightmare. For a while, things improved. He found work, made friends, and began to rebuild his life. I dared to hope that the worst was finally behind him. I was wrong again.
One winter evening, Aarav called me from Dublin, and his mother had reached out, begging him to come home. She claimed the family had changed, that his father regretted everything and his sister felt guilty. Despite my warnings, Aarav wanted to believe it. After everything, he still loved his family. He booked a flight home, hoping for reconciliation.
His parents welcomed him at the airport, his mother hugged him, and his father smiled. For the first time in years, he felt hope, but it didn’t last long. As days passed, strange conversations about inheritance began to surface. His grandfather had left significant assets intended for Aarav. Slowly, it became evident that this reunion was never about love; it was about money.
Aarav discovered documents that raised alarms. The apology had never been genuine—the family wanted access to his inheritance and nothing more. When he called me, he sounded sick, “They never wanted me back.” That realization broke something within him. He didn’t just lose his money; he lost hope—the hope that his family loved him, that families could heal. It didn’t exist anymore.
Eventually, the scheme to access his inheritance fell apart due to legal complications, but the emotional damage was irreversible. Aarav returned to Dublin, this time permanently. When I visited him, I barely recognized the cheerful boy from college. Months turned into years, and healing was slow. Some days were good; others, he didn’t leave his apartment. But slowly, life returned.
We traveled together, watched terrible movies, argued about cricket, and shared meals. One evening, while walking along the River Liffey, Aarav asked me, “Do you think any of this was my fault?” I paused, knowing exactly what he meant. I looked directly at him, “No. You didn’t choose to be the favorite child. You didn’t force anyone to betray you.” The tears in his eyes were honest ones, and for the first time, I felt he believed me.
Years later, I received a message from him with a single sentence: “I finally feel free.” Not because he had forgiven or forgotten, but because he stopped carrying the weight of responsibilities that were never his to bear. Today, Aarav still lives in Dublin, surrounded by new friends and dreams. His family is distant, and while the scars remain, he keeps moving forward. After everything they took from him, they never managed to take his future. And that is the real victory.
Though he is now dating a guy named Tadhg—one I can’t stand—I still wish him the best for the future.
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