"I knew he was a cheater… that fat pig… son of a bi—"
I cut him off before the words could go any further, not because they mattered, but because I knew this wasn't really about William, it was about everything that had been building inside him with nowhere left to go.
Anthony stood near the edge of the bed with his fists clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles pale, his breathing uneven as if he was holding something back and failing at it.
"Anth… how could he possibly stop his parents, he had his family there, he couldn't stay with us… we'll get back home soon, you don't worry about it," I said, keeping my voice steady as I placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground him even slightly, but he pushed my hand away almost immediately and began pacing across the room, his steps sharp and restless as if staying still would force him to think and thinking was the last thing he wanted right now.
There was nothing I could say after that, because he wasn't thinking straight and I couldn't blame him, not after everything that had happened, not after everything he had lost, expecting logic from him right now would have been unfair.
"I don't know… he was supposed to be with us, but he chose not to," he said, his voice dropping at the end, quieter but heavier, and before I could respond he walked to the door and slammed it shut behind him as he stepped out.
I followed him into the lift, the silence between us thick and unmoving, and I didn't try to break it because I knew it wouldn't help, some things needed to settle on their own before words could reach them.
When we reached the ground floor, we made our way to the hotel restaurant where everything felt strangely normal, people talking, plates clinking, waiters moving quickly between tables as if the world outside hadn't just collapsed.
Anthony didn't take anything, no matter how much I insisted he just stood there with his gaze unfocused, like he wasn't really present.
Near the counter, a small crowd had formed, voices rising over something that felt too trivial to matter.
"Bhaisahab! (brother!), we pay so much only to not even get a cup of tea in the evening!" a man in a suit shouted at the staff, his frustration drawing attention as the staff tried to calm him down.
Apparently, they had run out of something called chai.
It was just tea, or at least that's what I thought.
We waited, and after a few minutes fresh cups were brought out, steam rising gently as they were placed in front of us, and I took a cautious sip before immediately reacting.
"Ah… it's too sweet… Anth, I think you would like this one."
He didn't respond, he simply picked up the cup, took a sip, and then finished the entire cup of boiling tea within a minute without saying a word, his expression unchanged as if the heat and the taste didn't reach him anymore.
Then, without warning, something my father had said surfaced in my mind, clear and precise as if it had been waiting for the right moment.
"Anth… we're leaving for Chennai right now."
He looked at me, confused at first, his expression tightening slightly as he tried to connect the decision with everything else, and then it clicked.
"Okay… are you sure about that?"
"Yes, I am, that's what my father wanted, I have to listen to him this time."
There was no argument after that, only quiet understanding as we packed, the silence no longer heavy but focused, like both of us knew this wasn't just movement, it was direction.
We decided to leave the next morning, and the flight from Delhi to Chennai cost us 1800 dollars, which felt heavier than it should have because we had no idea how long we needed what remained, and after the payment we were left with around twenty-nine thousand in offline digital money.
During those days, there were mainly two ways to pay, long-distance transactions depended on Chrono servers which required the system to be active and stable, something no one trusted anymore, while short hand-to-hand payments worked through offline transfer, requiring physical presence along with a digital card that stored the money and simply wouldn't function without its owner.
We took the flight without much conversation and within a few hours we reached Chennai, and the difference was immediate, not just in temperature but in atmosphere, the air warmer and heavier as it settled into the skin, while the city stretched outward with a balance that didn't feel chaotic, only alive.
My father hadn't given me an address or even a hint of a location, only a name that now carried more weight than it should have.
Dr. Raghav Malhotra.
We stayed in a cheap homestay because every decision now had to be measured, every expense calculated against time we couldn't predict, and the place itself was simple and quiet, which was exactly what we needed.
The next morning we stepped out into the streets, and Chennai wasn't what I had expected at all, because instead of chaos there was rhythm, roads lined with trees that leaned slightly over the sidewalks as if offering shade, patches of green breaking through concrete in a way that felt deliberate, and between it all stood modern buildings with clean glass reflecting sunlight, structured yet not overwhelming.
Small roadside stalls stood beside well-designed stores, vendors spoke without shouting, and people moved with a steady pace that felt natural, as if the city functioned on its own quiet understanding.
"Hi sir, do you know Dr. Raghav Malhotra?" I asked a man near a roadside stall, and he shook his head without hesitation.
We kept walking, asking again and again, stopping strangers, stepping into small shops, repeating the same question with growing uncertainty.
"Excuse me, Dr. Raghav Malhotra?" I asked a woman outside a store, and she paused for a moment before slowly saying no.
Some people stopped longer, thinking as if the name sounded familiar but distant, a few mentioned a Malhotra somewhere else, but none of them were the one I was looking for, and none of them recognized my father either.
Daniel Brown meant nothing here.
"You don't know how to do this, Justin, let me…" Anthony said as he pushed me aside and stepped forward with a confidence that didn't match the situation, walking onto the street like he already knew what he was doing. He leaned slightly toward me as he passed and whispered,
"Bro, understand their culture, you're an idiot even after your broken chip, you need to be one of them before they tell you anything, just watch me."
Before I could respond, he had already moved ahead, straightening his shirt and rolling his shoulders back before walking up to a man standing near the roadside, the man's beard thick along his chin while his head was covered with a cloth, making it clear he was Muslim.
Anthony didn't hesitate, he joined his hands together, nodding slightly as if he belonged there, and then spoke.
"Jai Shree Ram (hail Lord Ram)… do you know about Dr. Raghav… Raghav Malhotra?"
For a moment nothing happened, and then the man grabbed Anthony's wrist sharply, his expression shifting almost instantly from confusion to anger.
"What… who are you?" he shouted as people nearby began to turn, "Kaafir saale! (bloody infidel!)"
Anthony struggled for a moment, clearly not expecting the reaction, before pulling his hand free and stepping back, and neither of us waited after that as we ran, not in a planned way but purely on instinct, moving through the street as fast as we could, weaving through people and turning corners until the noise behind us faded.
We slowed only when our breaths became uneven, stopping near the edge of a quieter street where the chaos dissolved into stillness, and Anthony bent slightly as he caught his breath before looking at me.
"What was that?"
I exhaled slowly, still trying to steady myself.
"If you say 'Jai Shree Ram' in front of a Muslim like that, how else is he supposed to react?" I said, running a hand through my hair.
"I mean… he overreacted," Anthony replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
For a moment neither of us spoke, and then something shifted, something small but real as the corner of his mouth lifted slightly and the tension in his face loosened, and for the first time since his parents had died, Anthony laughed, not loudly and not for long, just a few seconds, but enough to break through everything he had been carrying.
And before either of us could say anything about it, a woman approached us.