Yoongi stood beneath the flickering streetlamp, the night air thick with the scent of rain and regret. The shadows danced on the pavement, mirroring the turmoil within him. At 32, he was a ghost of the man he once hoped to be. The city buzzed around him, a sprawling canvas of life that he had long since stopped participating in

His work was simple—cleaning houses in the affluent neighborhoods that surrounded him. Each brush and sweep felt like an endless reminder of his own failures, and though the homes sparkled under his efforts, his heart remained a dull shade of gray. It was a way to earn money and escape his ever-growing resentment, if only for a few hours

And then there was Sushmita, his 16-year-old daughter. She was a constant shadow in his life, a reminder of the choices he had made as a reckless boy of 15. He remembered that fateful night—the thrill, the fear, the mistake that had changed his life irrevocably. When she was born, her mother had fought valiantly but was ultimately overcome by tragedy. The moment he held Sushmita in his arms, he felt a surge of emotions, but they quickly soured into frustration and blame. It was all her fault, he thought. If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have lost the one person who had ever attempted to understand him

In the dim light of their small apartment, he could see her sometimes—head bent, trying to study or just be a teenage girl. But all he could see was the girl who had cost him his young life, the innocent face that stirred churned memories of anger and sorrow. The years of resentment boiled inside him, and whenever he caught her in a fleeting moment of joy, he felt the sharp stab of envy mixed with hatred***

he’d always bark at her, his temper ignited by the sound of laughter echoing through their walls. The beatings were rare but efficient; just enough to release a fraction of his pent-up emotions, leaving both of them bruised in different ways

Every night he retreated to the bars that lined the back roads of the city, dimly lit spaces where anonymity was currency. There, among the scent of stale liquor and cigarette smoke, he sought solace in interactions that were fleeting and shallow. The women he encountered were a distraction, a means of quieting the storm within him, if only temporarily

Yoongi: at night he come home in anger he was angry because he didn't find any woman to spend night he was too much angry he try to clam down himself he was wanted to spend night with woman badly