Chapter 2: The Truth Beneath the Moon

The entire Kunal family carries the werewolf trait. After turning twenty, every full moon, they enter a heat period. Whoever they mark for the first time becomes their only partner for life!

It’s the sort of thing aunties whisper about during weddings, right after gossiping about who’s eloping with whom: “Woh Kunal family mein kuch toh hai, I’m telling you!” Still, the truth always seemed like a tale told to frighten kids into finishing their milk.

I always thought Rohan would mark me.

Our childhood was stitched together by summer afternoons under neem trees and silly friendship bracelets during Rakhi. It seemed natural that, when the time came, Rohan would choose me.

But when he first awakened his werewolf traits, his friends called me over to help him relieve it!

The phone call came just after dinner, while Ma still fussed in the kitchen, her bangles clinking as she packed up the leftover dal. There was worry in his friends’ voices—the kind that makes you forget your own hunger.

But outside the private room, I heard Rohan say irritably:

From the dimly lit corridor, I pressed myself against the faded wall, peeking through the glass panel. The words that floated out shattered the quiet more than any power cut or screeching auto ever could.

"Why should I make it so easy for her, yaar?"

"I want to chase the college beauty, but she’s not that easy!"

"Unlike Ananya, who’s like a little puppy, coming whenever I call!"

My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms as his words kept coming. I could hear his friends sniggering, their laughter as sticky as the cheap perfume that lingers in the hostel corridor after fest nights.

"When she comes, even if she begs to help me, I must hold back!"

"I don’t want to ruin my whole life for one night and be tied down by her forever!"

My throat tightened. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. The thought of being compared to a puppy—loyal, eager, always trailing after scraps—stung more than the time my little brother broke my favourite bangle and hid it behind his back. I remembered the time he’d stood up for me in front of the school bully, how proud I’d felt. Now, my cheeks burned for a different reason.

I stood outside the door, my mind completely blank!

It was that helpless feeling you get when your exam paper is snatched away before you can finish the last answer—exposed, desperate for a second chance.

I never expected that Rohan, who grew up with me, would see me like this!

His friends, all sycophants, laughed:

Their laughter bounced off the tiled floors, echoing in my ears, each word slapping harder than the last.

"So in your eyes, she’s just a plaything!"

"How about I call her and tell her not to come, so she doesn’t take advantage of you and climb into your bed to move up in life. Honestly, cheap things are never good!"

But Rohan stopped his friend from calling, feeling miserable, and said:

For a second, his voice softened—a flash of the boy who once bandaged my scraped knees before the world and ego made things so complicated.

"Forget it. If I tell her not to come now, what will she think?"

"Even if she’s just a plaything, she’s one I’ve spoiled since we were kids. I can’t bear to make her feel bad!"

"When she comes, I’ll see if I can hold back from touching her!"

"Some things are better left unsaid. It’s best if she sees it for herself this time!"

At that moment, I wanted to rush in and shout at Rohan:

I could feel the words burning at the tip of my tongue, ready to burst out like the first drops of rain before a summer storm. My fists shook, but pride held me in place, more stubborn than any ancestral curse.

"You say you can’t bear to hurt me, yet you compare me to a puppy in front of your friends, letting them mock and belittle me. Do you deserve my devotion?"

But I held back. Why waste words on someone who doesn’t value me!

The echo of Amma’s voice filled my head: “Don’t let anyone make you feel small, beta. Let your silence be your strength.”

I turned and left, fleeing in embarrassment, telling myself not to cry!

The corridor smelled of phenyl and old samosas, and as I hurried away, I heard someone’s phone playing a Bollywood song—mocking me with its cheeriness.

After thinking it over, I called his brother’s bodyguard:

"The thing you mentioned earlier, about helping Rohan’s brother—do you still need me?"

I took a deep breath, my voice steadier than I felt, and clutched the phone tight like a lifeline. Old wounds throbbed, but new resolve was blooming somewhere deep inside.

"Send me the address, I’ll go right away!"

Kunal’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I wondered if I’d been looking at the wrong brother all along.