Chapter 2: Rain, Punishment, and Apologies

The monsoon arrived in full force that night, sheets of rain drumming on the tin roof and thunder rolling through the dark. I stood outside, the sharp mitti ki khushboo rising from the wet ground, my dupatta stuck to my back. From the balcony, Rohan’s face was cold, unreadable as he turned the key and locked me out. For a moment, I wondered if this was a nightmare straight out of some old TV serial—except the sting of the rain was all too real.

He stood above me, umbrella in hand, his silhouette lit by a flickering bulb and the distant sound of the neighbour’s pressure cooker. His voice was cold and sharp, "Meera, how could you do that to her in front of everyone, yaar?" The disappointment in his eyes made him seem taller, older—like a strict elder, not the boy I’d once known.

"If it weren’t for your engagement to me, do you think you could have left the village and been taken in by my family?" There was no softness, only bitter truth. The memory of my parents folding their hands, their quiet desperation as they left me at the Sharmas’ doorstep, flashed before me. I clenched my fists, unable to meet his gaze, feeling stripped bare.

The rain didn’t let up. My hair was plastered to my forehead, my teeth chattered, and I could hear the distant, cheerful music of a TV serial from a neighbour’s house. I hugged myself tighter, shivering, while the world blurred and time lost all meaning. When I finally staggered inside at dawn, feverish and aching, I drifted for three days between sleep and the slow whir of the ceiling fan, the world reduced to hazy voices and the taste of medicine.

Rohan’s mother, smelling of sandalwood and Pond’s cream, sat by my bedside. "Beta, sab theek ho jayega. You’re like my own daughter, na. Let’s fix your engagement after school ends. It’ll settle everything." She offered me chai with extra sugar, her voice full of that practical, comforting logic only Indian mothers have.

But this time, before Rohan could say a word, I shook my head. "No, Aunty. There’s no need to hurry." Even I was surprised by my own calm. The silence grew heavy, and I saw confusion flicker across her face.

Rohan stared at me as if I’d become a stranger. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, uncertain for the first time. There was something almost childlike in his shock, and maybe—just maybe—a glint of regret.

He didn’t know that as soon as my fever broke, I’d messaged Teacher Nair, asking for a transfer. My hands trembled, but the relief was overwhelming. I was finally taking a step towards a future that was mine alone, even if it meant leaving everything I knew behind.