Monsoon Clouds - 3. The Night That Changed Everything
Chapter 3: Sandhya's Birthday
3.1 A Touch Beyond Words
The first warning came from Aunty, reminding us that it was getting late and we should get ready quickly. Uncle and Aunty never liked making others wait and disliked facing comments later. Taking the warning seriously, Sandhya and I immediately began the action plan.
Uncle and Aunty had already chosen her outfit: a Kanchipuram peacock blue silk pavada with a dark orange border, paired with the same peacock blue blouse and orange half saree. They matched it with a stunning ruby set—ear hangings, bangles, and necklace—along with a long old chain carrying a Goddess Lakshmi dollar, and a gold waist belt (vaddanam). Revathi Aunty’s parents, being from an agricultural background, had gifted her a lot of gold during her wedding, and she preserved most of it for Sandhya. Even Rama Rao Uncle used to buy gold for Sandhya since her childhood.
Sandhya, though a little tanned, had an undeniably attractive face—big expressive eyes, a sharp nose, and a disarming smile. She had the magic to win anyone over with that smile and often used it to her advantage, especially with her parents. She had inherited her father’s gift for social interaction and easily drew everyone’s attention towards her. Daring and straightforward, she never hesitated to talk to anyone, yet she never interfered in matters that weren’t hers.
After completing the dressing ritual, she stood before the mirror, turning at different angles to perfect every detail. If mobile phones with cameras existed back then, surely there would have been thousands of selfies—Sandhya was a picture person. She even used a touch of makeup to soften her tan. While she focused on her final touch-up, I didn’t bother much—it wasn’t my area of interest. Instead, I thought of helping Aunty in the kitchen. But when I went there, she wasn’t around—perhaps she too was getting ready, since most of the kitchen work was already done. So, I walked towards the terrace to see the venue decorations.
Then came the same voice, the same words: “Excuse me.” At first, I thought it was just my imagination, a lingering echo from the staircase incident. But the voice repeated, again and again, until I began looking around. The venue was empty. Then I noticed a boy standing on a stool, his face hidden behind a bunch of balloons—perhaps preparing a bouquet of them. As I walked closer, I spotted three balloons lying on the ground, likely dropped by him while tying.
I was certain it was my bangles and anklets that betrayed my presence to him. Yet I still couldn’t see his face, blocked by the cluster of balloons. I bent to pick up the fallen bunch and stretched my hand upwards, trying to pass it to him. Being in a half-saree, the movement revealed my waist, glowing under the evening sunlight—orange reflections on fair skin. He reached down blindly, his hand searching for the string’s end. But in the process, his fingers brushed over my entire hand, moving along the wrist, feeling their way clumsily.
I was frozen, unable to react, caught in a sensation I had never experienced before. His touch sparked signals across different parts of my body, a strange thrilling current that left me breathless. Finally, he found the string and tugged it upward. To me, it felt as though he were pulling a vein straight from my heart. I loosened my grip to let him take it easily. But the moment he released the balloon from my hand, I felt as if I had fallen from 30,000 feet to the ground—blank, shaken, unable to understand what was happening to me.
Overwhelmed, I turned and began to run.
Behind me, I heard his voice again:
“Thank you so much… Hey, wait!”
But by then, it was too late.
* * *
3.2 Birthday Girl Entry
As I entered Sandhya’s room, aunty was giving some final touch-ups. Mothers are never truly satisfied until they personally complete the grooming of their little princess. I could see the same emotion in her eyes that I often saw in my own mom’s—mixed with tenderness and a hint of wetness. I was certain of what was going through her mind; perhaps it’s the same for every mother of a daughter. She finished her ritual by placing a small black dot behind Sandhya’s ear and another on her left foot, a gesture of protection.
While aunty was still there, Sandhya called out, “Where have you been? I was looking for you. Check the back of my half-saree and blouse.” After a few minutes, aunty left the room, leaving us alone. Excitedly, Sandhya showed me a necklace her other aunty (Revathi’s brother’s wife) had gifted her. It was beautiful—studded with white and red stones, crafted in a modern design.
Just then, a knock came on the door. We thought it must be uncle or aunty. As I stepped forward to open it, a familiar voice whispered from the other side, “Candle, please.” Recognizing it, I hesitated and opened the door only slightly. Sandhya handed me the eighteenth birthday candle, which I carefully slipped through the narrow gap, making sure no one caught a glimpse of her before her grand entry. While passing the candle, I felt the warmth of his hand, a brief but unforgettable touch. I turned back, intending to ask Sandhya about him, but before I could, she was already holding up two necklaces—asking me which one suited her better. She insisted on trying both, one after another, so I helped her with it, forgetting my question about the mysterious boy for the moment. Finally, she chose to wear the necklace from her parents, deciding the other could be saved for a different occasion.
Soon, uncle began knocking on the door impatiently, his style of knocking clearly saying it was time to begin. Me and Sandhya gave ourselves one last look in the mirror, adjusting from different angles, ensuring everything looked perfect—well, as perfect as girls ever convince themselves to be. Satisfied to the maximum extent possible, we stepped out, leaving behind a room that now looked like a storm had passed through.
As we entered the venue, all eyes turned toward us. Conversations paused, and people gazed as though seeing us for the very first time. Sandhya looked like the epitome of a traditional Telugu girl—draped in jewels and radiance—while I, dressed more simply with minimal jewelry, still drew plenty of attention myself. Smiling at familiar faces, and even at some strangers, we walked toward the dais where a large white cream cake with red trimmings waited on a table. Guests greeted Sandhya warmly as we passed by; she responded gracefully with her trademark smile and a polite “thank you.”
Some guests seemed impatient to hand over their gifts, some were deep in conversation, while others couldn’t stop staring at us as though we were the evening’s highlight. Both mothers quickly noticed the rising attention and, not wanting the moment to stretch too long, signaled uncle to begin the cake-cutting ceremony.
* * *
3.3 The Voice That Stole My Heart
Uncle announced it loud — he didn’t need a mic. His strong voice itself carried to every corner of the venue. As I adjusted the cake and searched for a knife, the celebration began.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Sandhya, Happy Birthday to you!”
Among the chorus of voices — some sweet, some completely off-tune — there was one tone, strong, clear, and unmistakably close. So close, in fact, I could almost feel it in my ear… maybe even in my heart.
While Sandhya was busy cutting the cake, I tilted my head slightly back to see. And there he was. For a moment, I doubted my own eyes — was this real or just a dream?
A tall guy, about 5’10”, stood there, dressed in a red US Polo T-shirt that fit perfectly, blue jeans, and Nike sports shoes. His style spoke of effortless class. His curly hair held a touch of gel, spreading a light aroma, while his wide forehead, thick brows, and deep honey-brown eyes moved like fish in a shimmering pond. A sharp nose, soft lips, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache glistened against his fair skin like black pearls on white marble. And when he smiled, those dimples lit up his entire face.
His presence carried confidence — the kind you only see in movie stars. Even his perfume — Hugo, blending with his natural warmth — reached me like a new, addictive flavor. He stood there, carefree, still singing, still smiling, as if the world around him didn’t matter.
I was frozen in the moment, struggling to believe this was the same guy I’d encountered briefly earlier that evening. Was he truly standing beside me? Or was my imagination playing tricks?
Sandhya snapped me out of my trance, playfully turning my chin towards her so she could feed me cake. I smiled awkwardly, fed her back, and reminded myself to focus. Those days, cake feeding was simple and graceful — not the messy cake-smearing trends of today.
Once the cake-cutting ended, Aunty asked me to help slice it for serving. Satish joined me as I carried it inside. My hands busied themselves cutting equal pieces, but my mind was elsewhere — replaying his face, his smile, that voice. I’d never seen such a handsome person in real life. It took longer than usual, but at least I didn’t cut my fingers; the cake stayed white, not red.
I handed the slices to the catering staff and rushed back outside. Sandhya was surrounded by relatives, receiving blessings and gifts. My eyes scanned the hall, restless. He wasn’t there. I checked the dinner section — no trace. Restlessness grew, so I even went downstairs searching for him, though I couldn’t explain why.
With every step, my hope dimmed, and I caught myself looking dull, restless, almost lost. I couldn’t understand why I was doing this, why this mattered so much. But it did.
* * *
3.4 Restless Night
I jumped onto my bed, my body and mind equally exhausted. Yet, I resisted closing my eyes, afraid of what might unfold once I did. Still, I couldn’t hold out for long. The moment my eyelids met, I saw him — standing beside my bed, arms folded, smiling, his dimples twinkling like stars.
The evening rewound in flashes — the stranger at the stairs, the box, the balloon, the candles. The more I tried to forget, the more I remembered. I tossed from one end of the bed to the other, even fearing I might fall off. My mind wouldn’t stop, hormones surging within me, making me experience something new and strange.
Biology was never my strong subject. In school, those topics were marked “out of syllabus.” All I knew was what I saw in movies — the hero and heroine hugging, disappearing behind bushes, or the screen fading to darkness. I never thought beyond that.
As thoughts kept racing, my focus shifted. Who is he? Why is he disturbing me so much?
Questions flooded my mind:
Where did he vanish?
Is he real or just my imagination?
Did he even notice me?
Does he already have a girlfriend? (Of course, he must — someone that handsome surely would.)
Could he be a relative of Rama Rao Uncle? But I know all of them, and I’ve never seen him.
A friend of Satish? He doesn’t look like a student.
Sandhya’s boyfriend? Cant be, But she tells me everything — even her menstruation cycle.
Wave after wave of questions crashed in, but no answers surfaced. The stranger remained… a stranger.
Suddenly,
I heard a soft voice:
“Rekha… Rekha…”
I opened my eyes and froze. There he was — kneeling beside my bed, his face so close to mine.
“Oh my God! How did you come in here? What are you doing?” I whispered frantically, not wanting my parents to wake up.
“I just came to thank you,” he said, gazing into my eyes. “I didn’t get a chance all evening.”
My panic grew. “But how did you even enter my room? Who told you my address?” Questions poured out nonstop.
He only smiled. Then, gently, he placed his hand over my mouth to silence me. The scent of his perfume mixed with his manly aroma filled my senses. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in the silence of the night.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Your eyes… your lips… your hair…”
Before he could finish, I pressed my hand over his mouth, blocking his words. Now we sat there, both of us with our hands on each other’s lips. I felt the warmth of his breath, the wetness of his lips on my palm, his eyes reflecting a quiet joy.
When his lips brushed further against my hand, I quickly pulled away. He looked disappointed, like a child denied his favorite chocolate.
I got down from the bed, pushing him gently toward the door. He pleaded, “Please… Rekha, Rekha…” His voice echoed in my ears.
A
sudden shake on my shoulder pulled me back.
“Rekha, get up! You’ll be late for college. Do you even want to go?”
It was my mother — not the stranger. Her usual “voice alarm” hadn’t worked, so she had used her “physical alarm.” If not for moms, I thought, the world might just sleep forever.
That’s when it struck me — today was important. I had to ask Sandhya about the stranger. The very thought of him sent a shiver down my spine. I sprang out of bed and got ready at lightning speed, shocking even my mom.
I had just one mission: to reach the bus stop before Sandhya… and get every detail about the stranger.
I never imagined meeting him would leave me so restless.
* * *
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