“Every once in a while, I weep,” I managed, “Without reason. Ever since I started living away from home it just became easier to engage in the self-destructive routine. I do not remember how it began. But each time, I never tell anyone. It is my dirty secret. Somehow I always looked upon crying as something a weak person would do. It took, sorry takes, a lot for me to remind myself that crying is not a sign of weakness.”
He laughed, again. “I am tired of this infuriating laugh of yours. Respond, reflect. Say something D,” I said staring at the loft. But he wouldn't make eye contact. He pulled this tantrum every time he was ticked off by my "unnecessary" anger, as he fondly referred to it. “Fine. I will just get back to reading. You are free to leave,” I mutter. As I pick up my book and flip back to where I had left it, I could hear his breathing get heavier. He sulked a while longer before I heard that familiar sound. He was gone.
Rohan walked in just then, “I heard voices. Who were you talking to, Karthik?” “Just me, myself and I, here. Maybe you heard a noise from outside,” I responded calmly. “Freaky! I was positive I heard a grim voice coming from this room. And it sounded nothing like you,” Rohan muttered taken aback by my nonchalant attitude. “Must have been the devil teasing you inside your head,” I said and laughed loudly. Rohan didn't understand and probably would never get that joke.