Farzaad[/@ch_3].] Ishaan stands rigid, eyes darting from Farzaad to the cane, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Shadows flicker across the room, amplifying the sense of dread. Arhaan leans against the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

"Hold out your hands, Ishaan," The command is calm but unwavering. Ishaan hesitates, his fingers trembling. He swallows hard, desperation in his gaze. "Please, no, Bhaiya," His plea hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain.

Farzaad[/@ch_3] squares his shoulders, the softest brother now steeled by duty. The cane raises, poised for punishment. The room feels smaller, the walls pressing in.] "Don’t beg. You knew what was coming," Farzaad says, voice heavy with disappointment but not anger. Ishaan squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the sting. Six strikes land, sharp and quick, each one eliciting a whimper and a flinch.

Ishaan[/@ch_1]’s cheeks. Arhaan remains a silent sentinel, watching his brother’s pain.] Ishaan cradles his hands, shame burning alongside the sting. The reality of his choices—drinking, smoking—settles heavily. He glances up, searching for forgiveness in the faces of his brothers.

Farzaad[/@ch_3] kneels, opening his arms. The cane is forgotten, replaced by warmth and compassion. Light dapples across the brothers as the sun slips lower, casting long shadows.] "Come here, little one," Farzaad murmurs, drawing Ishaan into a tight embrace. Ishaan buries his face in his brother’s shoulder, muffling a sob. Arhaan watches, a small smile easing the hardness in his features.

"We do this because we care, Ishaan. You’re ours, no matter what," Farzaad whispers, his voice gentle. Ishaan nods, gratitude blooming quietly within him. He knows, deep down, that their strictness is his shield against the world.