Chapter 3: Morning After

The ceiling fan whirred overhead as I lay on the hard mattress, unable to sleep. My mind replayed the whole scene with Meera on loop—her faint smirk, the voice note disaster, the way I’d bolted like a scared cat. 'Chalta hai, Rohan. Bombay main sab kuch hota hai,' I told myself.

I’d come back to Mumbai for two reasons: to quit my job and focus on my career down south, and to attend my cousin’s wedding. Amma was already hinting about 'good girls from our community.' The house was full—chacha ji’s family visiting, kids running amok, pressure cooker seeti, and the aroma of tadka everywhere.

Priya had her own flat and rarely stayed at home. Baba’s booming voice echoed: "Priya ko bol, abhi ghar aa jaaye! Itna attitude kisko dikhati hai?" I headed to her place, thankful for fingerprint access.

The living room was a mess—Kingfisher bottles, half-eaten Domino’s, and a cold packet of Haldiram’s samosas littered the table. The bedroom was dark, curtains drawn tight. I flicked on the light, yanked the curtains open, and accidentally pulled the quilt off the sleeping figure.

Meera’s long legs and perfect figure were revealed. My heart stopped. She blinked awake, then pulled the blanket up, eyes wide. I stammered in Hindi, "Sorry, sorry, main... galti se aa gaya," then spun around, banging my leg hard on the bed frame.

The pain shot up my calf. I yelped, clutching my leg and cursing under my breath, "Arrey baap re! Kya din aa gaye!"

Meera, still in a daze, asked, "Are you okay?" Her voice was hoarse, her hair wild. I just limped out, splashing water on my face at the kitchen sink, trying to will the redness away.