Chapter 6: Mumbai’s Resilience and Final Storms

With the flat wrecked, staying was impossible. The hotels nearby were jammed with other flood refugees; only a few rooms left, and those at absurd rates. Four thousand rupees a night—half my monthly salary, just for a bed.

So we ended up in a corner of the hotel lobby, sitting on our bags, surrounded by strangers stranded by the rain. My hair was still damp, the cold crawling up my spine.

Near us, a chaiwala had set up a makeshift stall, pouring steaming cutting chai into paper cups. The security guard grumbled as people tracked in mud, but still let the vendors serve—Mumbai never really stops.

Next to us, a group of young women chatted brightly despite the chaos. “Yaar, when will some rich guy just fall for me and give me a crore for no reason?” one giggled.

“Don’t jinx it—did you see what’s trending? I’m jealous of Rhea Agarwal. Top actress, Mumbai princess, and her fiancé just donated a hundred crore without blinking. That’s love, na?”

“He even donated under both their names. That’s real love,” another sighed, dreamy.

I felt Kabir stiffen beside me. He leaned in, his breath tickling my ear. “Didi, four thousand is four thousand. Let’s just stay here, na?”

His body shook against my back. It was almost Diwali, and he’d given me his only jacket, sitting in a thin tee. Once, that would’ve broken my heart—I’d have given my last rupee for him.

Now, I pinched his thigh hard, making him jump. “You brought this on yourself. You deserve it.”

I paused, fiddling with the ring box, my fingers trembling. “If you were like someone’s fiancé, able to donate a hundred crore, would I still be living like this? Always struggling, always shivering?”

A coughing fit overtook me. Kabir patted my back, eyes filled with worry. When I stopped, he leaned down, voice rough, nipping my ear, “I get it. Didi thinks I’m too poor.”

“It’s my fault. I can’t give you a bungalow, made you sick, made you shiver, can’t even find a place to stay—it’s all my fault…”

I thought I’d run out of tears. But hearing him so small, so honest, my eyes stung again. He always watched me burn myself out for him, always let me shoulder the pain.

He’d toss a few sweet words—beautiful, but empty. Maybe he even liked it. Maybe he thought my devotion was his due.

“Yes, it’s all your fault.” I cut in, voice low and steady.

Kabir fell silent. The mask slipped. For a moment, he looked like a little boy who’d lost his favourite toy. In the past, I’d comfort him, whisper, “Don’t blame yourself. I feel sorry for you, Kabir. Understand?”

But this time, I looked away, my thumb rubbing the ring box, letting the silence say what I couldn’t. After a long, awkward beat, Kabir forced a smile, raising his hand. “I… I can work overtime—”

I didn’t want more excuses. I shoved him, forcing a brittle laugh. “Just joking.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Kabir’s shoulders slump, all the fight gone. Outside, the rain had finally stopped, but inside me, the storm raged on.