Chapter 2: Monsoon Games

The day I found out I was pregnant, I braved the pouring monsoon rain to go to the club Arjun frequented in Mumbai.

The downpour had turned the streets into rivers, autos swerved and splashed muddy water at my ankles. My kurta clung uncomfortably. My dupatta was half-soaked, sticking to my neck. I could feel the city’s grime settling on my skin. Hair sticking to my forehead, but still I hurried—clutching my purse and the pregnancy test wrapped in a brown medical store paper. The city smelled of wet earth and petrol.

By the time I arrived, my hair was damp and my kurta clung to my skin.

I wiped my face with a tissue I dug out from my bag, wishing I'd remembered my old blue umbrella instead of this leaky one from the chemist. My slippers squelched as I walked up the stairs. Every step, my heart pounded with something I couldn't name—fear, maybe, or hope.

Just as I was about to push open the door, I heard Arjun's cold voice from inside.

My hand froze on the heavy wooden handle. The club was always noisy—music pulsing, people laughing—but his voice, low and sharp, cut through everything. I held my breath, waiting, the neon light outside flickering in the rain.

"Had your fun? When are we switching back?"

His twin brother, Kabir, replied, "No, I haven't had enough yet."

Arjun frowned. "You didn't touch her, did you? You know the rules."

Kabir paused for a split second—barely noticeable—then slowly curled his lips. "What are you so worried about? No."

He lifted his whiskey glass. "But even if I did, you probably wouldn't care, right?"

Arjun hesitated, his expression turning a little unnatural. "Of course, it's just filthy."

A burst of jeering erupted from the private room:

"Second Young Master Malhotra, you even play with the women your brother's had?"

Somebody whistled, another smacked the table. In India, nothing is private, not even your shame. These rich boys, always so loud, so sure the world is theirs.

"Arre, you can't blame Second Young Master. With Ananya's looks, who wouldn't want a taste?"

The way they said my name, drawing it out, made my stomach turn. It reminded me of school, when the rich girls would pass around my tiffin just to laugh at my homemade chutney. I could imagine their eyes raking over me, as if I was some sweet in a mithai box passed around the table.

"Her figure is something else too—hips like a mango, almost ripe."

The laughter was cruel, jagged. In Mumbai's elite clubs, everyone is hunting for a joke at someone else's expense. I clenched my fists, knuckles white.

"It's just that First Young Master Arjun isn't into women. He won't touch her."

The woman sitting next to Arjun chuckled, "Why does Ananya feel like the Virar fast? Everyone wants a ride."

Laughter broke out all around.

If it was a movie, this is where I'd throw a glass of water at her. But in real life, I just stood outside, the world blurring with rain and tears I refused to let fall.

I recognised her.

Priya Sharma, the little princess of South Mumbai's elite circles, Arjun's childhood friend—practically raised with him.

I remembered her—her laugh echoing in the hostel corridors, the sound of her bangles as she walked past, nose turned up, always looking for drama. The type who'd never leave anyone alone if she could get a story out of it.

Someone asked, "Whose idea was it to play this big?"

Priya arched her brows. "They're so dumb—of course it was me."

Her tone was full of pride, her eyes shining with wicked excitement. She never liked easy games. It had to be big, bold—enough to get everyone talking.

"Ananya would never imagine Arjun has a twin brother."

"Come on, thank me. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have such an exciting game."

Arjun smiled indulgently. "Yes, yes, yes, you're the smartest."

Even his indulgence sounded like a taunt. Priya soaked it up like a sponge, smirking at her own cleverness.

Someone else piped up, "I heard First Young Master Arjun is marrying Ananya in seven days. Is that true?"

Arjun smirked. "Of course it's fake. The girl wants a title, so I'm just stringing her along for fun."

The word 'title' stung, as if my whole existence was just some ticket he could hand out or rip up as he pleased. In this crowd, dignity was a thing for others to mock.

Priya suddenly straightened, her eyes glittering with mischief:

"After you get married in seven days, you all tell her that you've been taking turns with her for a whole year. I want to see her reaction right there."

"Pushing her off a cliff right when she's closest to happiness—isn't that fun?"

There was a pause—just a heartbeat—then the laughter got even louder. Nobody there thought about what it meant, or who might be listening.

Arjun smiled helplessly. "How old are you? Still so childish."

Priya pouted. "No matter how childish, you've always gotten whatever you wanted since we were kids."

Her pout was a performance—she liked being the one in control, liked being the one who could ruin someone with just a word. In our hostel, her tantrums were legendary. Now, it seemed, nothing had changed.

"But all of you need to be careful—not to accidentally get her pregnant."

"Women from the chawls are hard to get rid of if they get pregnant."

The word 'chawls' sat heavy in the air. I knew what she meant—girls like me, who grew up fighting for every morsel, wouldn't go away quietly. The stigma was a shroud I couldn't shake off.

Arjun frowned slightly. "Don't joke about that. We've never touched her."

Priya tilted her head, pressing, "But what if she really does get pregnant?"

Arjun smiled nonchalantly. "Then let her go, right, Kabir?"

Kabir seemed distracted, but when Arjun called his name, he finally replied, "Hmm."

Barrage:

[So funny, Kabir says he hasn't done anything, but he's already slept with her behind his brother's back.]

[The side character is pregnant and still cluelessly happy, not knowing Arjun never touched her—it was his twin brother all along.]

[Arjun only cares about the female lead. Even if the side character is pregnant with his child, he'd still get rid of her and the child.]

[This is great—Arjun stays pure for the female lead, Kabir just uses the side character for practice. This is exactly the group-pampering drama I wanted.]

Those anonymous comments, floating through WhatsApp and Instagram, made my heart ache. In India, everyone's life is up for public discussion—especially girls from the wrong side of the tracks.

I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand—two lines.

Even in the dim stairwell, the pink lines glowed, more real than anything else. I ran my thumb over the plastic window, as if the truth could be rubbed away.

I had run through the rain to tell Arjun the news.

I really was pregnant.

Now, it seemed, there was no point.

The monsoon wind blew hard, rattling the window glass. My chest felt as heavy as the clouds pressing down on the city.