Chapter 3: Exile in the Rain

The rain was unrelenting, the sky a heavy grey, and the sharp tang of wet earth filled the air. I stood under the narrow eaves of the bungalow, water soaking through my uniform, shoes squelching with each shift of my weight. Even the watchman avoided looking at me, probably already preparing a story for Kal aunty next door.

The househelp aunty opened the door a crack, sari neatly tucked, eyes full of apology. "Sorry, Meera beta... If I let you in, I'll lose my job..." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she glanced back, fear and guilt warring in her face. I wiped my face with my cold, wet dupatta and forced a smile, "It’s okay, Aunty. Don’t worry. I understand." She hesitated, then slipped away, leaving me alone with the roar of the monsoon.

I pressed myself against the wall, shivering, the wind cutting through me. My kurta stuck to my skin, my fingers numb, and I counted the seconds between thunderclaps to distract myself. Time blurred. When the door finally creaked open, Rohan stood there, arm around Sneha, who limped on her bandaged knee. Her eyes met mine for a moment—pity, or maybe contempt—and then darted away.

Rohan’s jaw was set. "So, are you still unwilling to apologise?" The words stung. Pride and hurt warred inside me, but exhaustion had won. I bent my head, folding my hands the way Ma taught me to say sorry. "Sorry, Sneha," I managed, voice cracking. "I shouldn’t have done that."

Sneha clung to Rohan. "But I don’t want to forgive her..." Her voice was small, almost triumphant, and Rohan held her hand gently. "It’s all right," he murmured. His eyes, cold and distant, met mine. "It’s too late."