Chapter One of The Roar Within

 

The Roar Begins — Chapter One of The Roar Within

Introduction

This is the opening chapter of my debut novel, The Roar Within — a story of late-life reinvention, emotional realism, and quiet courage. I’m sharing it here to invite early reflections and ripple-worthy engagement. If this chapter resonates, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Chapter One

The Roar Within

Chapter One:

The Drawer That Should Have Exploded

Prologue: Before the Roar

S

uresh Kulkarni was brilliant. Not in the way that demanded attention, but in the way that quietly rearranged the world around him—like a flame that warmed but never burned. He spoke less and thought more. And somewhere along the way, he mistook silence for strength.

His passion—once vivid, once vocal—folded inward. He shut the door on his own voice. Not out of cruelty, but out of fear. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being too much.

Anita adjusted. Not all at once. But slowly, like a dancer learning to move without music. She stopped humming while cooking. She stopped asking. She stopped expecting the rhythm to return.

Ria watched. She was young, outspoken, full of questions. She didn’t understand the silence between her parents. So, she filled it with her own noise—laughter, movement, rebellion. She thought she was escaping it. She didn’t know she was inheriting it.

This isn’t a story of confrontation. It’s a story of echoes. Of what happens when brilliance retreats, when love adapts, and when a child learns to listen to what was never said.

Before the roar, there was quiet. And in that quiet, everything began.

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 Ria in Suresh’s Study-

Flashback

 

T

he air smelled faintly of old paper and camphor. The desk lamp cast a yellow pool, dust motes drifting like secrets.

The drawer groaned – untouched for years. Dust rose in a slow, accusatory swirl. Beneath tax files, warranty slips, and a broken stapler, something waited.

A manuscript. Bound. Titled. The Roar Within. Her father’s name on the cover.

Ria stared at it, heart thudding. “She felt her throat tighten. This wasn’t just paper—it was a version of her father she’d never met.”

The pages were yellowed but intact. Tucked beside it were envelopes—dozens of them. Rejections. Some polite. Some brutal. One just said, “Not for us.”

She didn’t hear the door. Just his voice.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Suresh said.

He didn’t snatch it away. Didn’t raise his voice. Just stood there, arms limp, eyes unreadable.

Ria turned to face him, manuscript still in hand.

“You wrote a book?” she asked, voice tight.

“A long time ago,” he said. “It didn’t matter.”

“It mattered enough to hide.”

Suresh l

ooked at the drawer like it had betrayed him. His jaw clenched, then softened.

“I thought I’d finish it. Then I thought I’d publish it. Then I stopped thinking about it.”

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🔙 Flashback: Ria, Age 11

She remembered a night—years ago—when she’d crept into the study for coloured pencils. Her father was at the desk, typing. The room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp. He didn’t notice her.

She watched him pause, stare at the screen, then press backspace. Again, and again. Then he closed the laptop, sighed, and turned off the light.

She’d thought nothing of it then. Just a tired man ending his day.

Now she knew better.

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🧍‍♂️ Suresh’s Reaction

Suresh sat down slowly, like the air had thickened.

“I sent it out. Got rejected. I told myself I’d rewrite it. But life got louder. You were growing up. Your mother needed help. The house needed repairs. The silence was easier.”

Ria didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

“I didn’t want you to see it because I didn’t want you to think I was someone else. Someone who tried and failed.”

“But you were,” she said. “And I wish I’d known.”

He looked at her then—really looked. There was shame in his eyes. And something else. Pride, maybe. Or grief.

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry,” she lied. “I’m... rewriting the story I thought I was living.”

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🧠 Ria’s Journal Entry

August 20, I found his manuscript today. I didn’t know he’d written. Didn’t know he’d tried. Didn’t know he’d buried it.

It’s strange—how silence can shape a person. He taught me to be practical. To be safe. But he once dreamed. And failed. And hid it. I’m not sure what hurts more: the hiding or the giving up.

I want to read it. I want to understand him. But part of me is scared. What if I find myself in his pages?

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🎭 Visual Motif

That night, Ria placed the manuscript beside her own journal. Two voices. One beginning. One buried.

She didn’t know what she’d do with it yet. But she knew she wouldn’t put it back in the drawer.

 

“She didn’t know what she’d do with it yet. But she knew she wouldn’t let it be buried again.”

 

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The full book is now available on Kindle. If this chapter speaks to you, I’d be honored if you continued the journey. 

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