They were afraid, you can say. Afraid of what the other might do to rip them of their dignity and self respect. Afraid that they would lose themselves a little more. They were tired, you can say. Tired of hurting themselves and then searching for a reason, a chance to seek revenge upon the other.
They lived in the same house. To the world outside they were a family. D' souza's. The semi furnished wooden door had undergone an intense one day carving session to make it easier for the visitors to trace where the D'souza's lived. Lived? They lived inside the house like disjoint letters of English alphabet.
They lived in the same house. A house that didn't sing to them a lullaby to drive home the wheels of sleep. But a house that robbed them of their dreams and replaced them with nightmares.