Monsoon Clouds - 8. Rahul's Birthday
Chapter 8: Rahul’s Birthday
8.1 Quiet Care and a Mother’s Blessing
We used to visit Rama Rao uncle’s house once in a while—to dust the rooms, check the mail, and clean the surroundings. Rahul often accompanied me, mostly with his endless talking. Whenever it came to spraying pesticides in the kitchen and bathroom, he would take over completely, knowing I was allergic to the smell. He always did it at the end and carefully closed the doors, making sure I stayed safe.
That morning, I woke up earlier than usual. I prepared biryani, paneer curry, and double ka meetha, packed everything neatly into boxes. I chose Rahul’s favorite parrot-green pavada and an orange half saree for myself. Mom looked at me quietly for a moment—perhaps sensing a change in me—and gave a simple smile. She gently applied kajal behind my ear to ward off the evil eye. That small gesture said more than words ever could: you are looking very beautiful today.
Along with the lunch boxes, I packed a plain copper-sulphate-blue shirt Rahul would love. It didn’t take much space in the bag. I also slipped in a greeting card—because today was special. The day I had been waiting for. Rahul’s birthday.
He had a small celebration planned at the office in the morning, followed by an important meeting, so taking a full day off wasn’t possible. Though he wanted to skip the evening party with friends and spend the entire day with me, I didn’t want anyone to feel he was avoiding them because of me. We decided to meet during lunch instead. I applied for half-day leave so we could have lunch together and maybe watch a movie. He would join his friends later in the evening.
I bought a small cake—just enough for two—with both our names on it, and packed it along with the food.
* * *
8.2 A Birthday Meant Only for Two
Rahul arrived at my office as planned, wearing a brown check shirt and blue jeans. We stepped out together. I wanted him to cut the cake just for me, but we needed a private place. After checking a few options, we decided on Rama Rao uncle’s house—I had the keys, and it felt perfect.
The house was neat and clean, just as we had left it a few days earlier. Rahul went to freshen up, while I quickly arranged everything—spread a cloth on the center table, placed the cake and knife, added a few balloons, rose petals, and candles. When Rahul returned, he stood still, unable to believe what he saw.
He was amazed that I had managed to do so much in such little time. His happiness showed clearly. He moved toward me, saying how incredible I was, how this was exactly why he wanted me as his wife and the mother of his children, opening his arms to hug me. I gently resisted and pushed him away playfully. He made an exaggerated face and stepped back with mock disappointment.
As he came closer again, I noticed a faint smell and asked him directly if he had been drinking. Without hiding anything, he admitted his colleagues had insisted, and he had a beer before coming. Since it was his birthday, I stayed silent. He read my expression instantly and apologized. When Rahul says sorry like that, it’s impossible to stay upset. I let it go and moved on.
I asked him to close his eyes. Taking the shirt and greeting card from my bag, I placed them in his hands. He opened them like an excited child—smiling as he read the card and unfolding the shirt with delight. He loved it so much that he immediately began changing into it, tossing his old shirt aside.
The new shirt suited him perfectly—the color, the fit, the way it complemented him. He looked like a debut hero stepping into a new Bollywood film. I stood there admiring him, forgetting where we were, until he waved his hand in front of me and brought me back to reality with a smile.
* * *
8.3 Birthday Candle Still Burning
Lighting the candle—not on the cake but around the table—I created a soft celebratory ambience. Rahul didn’t like blowing out candles; he wanted the flame to keep glowing while cutting the cake. He insisted that both of us cut it together, saying we were one. To make him happy, we held the knife together. When his hand closed over mine, I felt a sudden warmth and a rush that I couldn’t quite explain.
We fed each other cake. Then he asked for an English kiss. I could already feel something overwhelming stirring inside me, and I knew that if I gave in, things might go beyond control. Even though it was his birthday, I refused and made a helpless face. I had to be firm. To soften the moment, I kissed his hand and asked him to do the same. As a bonus, I kissed his forehead and quickly moved toward the kitchen to bring plates and spoons.
He went to the washroom to clean the cream I had teasingly smeared on his face. I arranged the table with plates, water, and dishes, giving it a restaurant-like feel. He was surprised by the sudden transformation and kept praising me. As he tasted the food, his appreciation grew emotional. With moist eyes, he said he wanted to eat food cooked by my hands for the rest of his life. My eyes welled up too. To lighten the mood, he cracked a few old jokes.
We ate from the same plate, feeding each other. He enjoyed the food so much that nothing was left. Watching him eat happily filled me with deep contentment—there is no greater joy than feeding someone you love their favorite food.
After clearing the table, I took the dishes to the kitchen. Rahul always liked this about me—knowing what needed to be done without being told, keeping the place neat. After the heavy meal, he relaxed on the sofa. When I returned, I saw him asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, I went to Sandhya’s room, placed a pillow on the cot, and lay down to rest. Exhausted by the day’s emotions and work, I drifted into sleep without realizing it.
I felt a strange sensation on my lips and movement near me. Thinking it was a dream, I didn’t react at first. But the awareness grew stronger, and I woke up to find Rahul leaning over me. Shocked, I pushed him away with all the strength I had and rushed toward the door, adjusting my pallu. The door was already bolted, and the latch was too high for me to reach easily.
Rahul quickly came behind me, placing his hand over mine to stop me from opening the door. He kept apologizing, saying he couldn’t control himself, praising my beauty, my innocence while sleeping, and how it overwhelmed him.
I struggled to open the bolt, already stiff from disuse, his hand making it even harder. Using the moment, he tried to pull me away from the door. Even though my heart was racing and my mind confused, my only thought was to get out of the room. With effort, I loosened my grip and managed to move my hand free. I pushed him away just enough to turn around and face him.
I kept pleading with him to stop, reminding him that everything should wait until after marriage. But he wasn’t in a state to listen. He kept saying we were already one, that marriage was just a formality everyone had agreed upon, and that there was nothing wrong in getting close.
Realizing that strength alone wouldn’t work, I searched for another way to calm him. After repeated pleas failed, I finally offered what he had asked for earlier—an English kiss—and clearly told him that everything else would only be after marriage. He wasn’t fully satisfied, but he eventually agreed.
It was one of the hardest decisions I had ever made. I loved Rahul deeply, and somewhere inside me, I felt the same emotions he did. But society, boundaries, and above all, being a woman, demanded control—no matter how difficult it was.
* * *
8.4 The First Kiss and the Loss of Control
Rahul was happy with the offer, as if he had received an offer to travel to the moon. He loosened his grip, and I felt deeply relaxed, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from me. He began taking deep breaths, and I too was breathing heavily. He liked the spot near the door and wanted to be there. He made some preparatory movements, while I watched him with tension and confusion about what I was doing, though it already felt too late.
He came closer to me, looking completely different—his eyes filled with lust. His slow steps towards me looked stylish and royal. I stepped back until the door stopped me, wishing there was no door so I could move further away.
He stood very close, stared deep into my eyes, and lifted my chin when I closed them. I felt the vibration in my lips and the warmth of his breath. His face moved closer, his breath touching every inch of my face. I could smell him, and instinctively I wet my lips as his dry lips neared mine.
When his lips gently touched mine, it felt like a silent blast inside my heart—the first kiss of my life, from the man I loved. Despite all the pressure and fear, his touch felt soothing. For a few moments, I forgot everything and experienced the pleasure of that first kiss. Sandhya had once spoken about this feeling; only now did I understand that it cannot be explained in words.
The kiss deepened. Our hands moved, lips pressed harder, tongues crossed, and every hormone in my body seemed activated. I held his hair, pulling him closer, lost in the moment.
That action heightened his desire. His hands moved over my blouse, unhooking it one by one. I was unaware of what was happening until I felt his heat and suddenly realized my condition.
As clarity returned, I pushed him away with all my strength, as if cold water had been poured over me. I pulled my pallu back to cover myself. I heard a loud cry of pain—Rahul was holding his knee, sitting on the bed.
Feeling guilty, I rushed to him despite my disheveled state. He turned his face away in anger. Tears flowed as I apologized repeatedly. I rubbed his knee without knowing the injury, until I heard giggling—he was laughing. Relief and anger mixed inside me as I hit his chest playfully.
He laughed loudly, fell back on the bed, and extended his hand. Instinctively, my hand reached his. He pulled me onto his chest. His warmth felt heavenly, like the safest place in the world. I cried into his chest as he spoke of love, marriage, and a future together.
* * *
8.5 Crossing the Line
He lifted my chin again and kissed me passionately. My resistance faded. My clothes shifted, exposing me, but he remained consumed by the kiss. His hands returned, his control increasing as mine faded.
He turned me onto the bed and pressed over me. My blouse was fully open. He held my hands above my head, kissing me continuously. I realized I could no longer overpower him.
Soon, pain followed—sharp, tearing, unbearable. I cried, screamed, and shivered. Everything went blank.
When I awoke, my eyelids felt unbearably heavy. My vision was blurred, but I soon recognized Rahul coming out of the bathroom. Confusion turned into horror as I looked at myself. Reality hit me—I was no longer the same person.
I cried uncontrollably. Rahul tried to console me, speaking of marriage and asking forgiveness. His words meant nothing. I pushed him away and gathered whatever strength remained to dress myself.
I rushed to the bathroom, crying, wanting to end my life, drowning in shame and fear of facing my parents. I stopped only because of the thought of causing trouble to Rama Rao uncle. I washed myself, washed the blood-stained clothes, and stared at my reflection—broken, exhausted, but forming a plan for what comes next.
* * *
8.6 Walking Away with a Broken Heart
Rahul rushed to the bathroom as I opened the door and started to sing his sorry song again, but I was not in a position to listen to him anymore. I had no interest even to talk to him. With my red face, I just showed him the main door with my index finger, indirectly telling him to get out.
His sorry and innocent face was unable to make me normal anymore. Without making any further argument or extension, maybe he knew it was not the right time to talk. He came down on his knees and expressed his sorry, joining his palms. For a moment, I felt that even I shared equal responsibility in the crime, but I was not in a position to accept it. I stood in the same position, pointing my finger towards the main door.
He started to leave with his head down. A man who always held his head high was now walking with his head lowered, just because he was unable to control his lust.
With trembling steps, I started to gather all my items. My heart continued crying, thinking of ways to end my life, as I felt I was not worth living anymore. I locked the house. Rahul was still waiting downstairs, but I ignored him and walked as fast as I could. He remained quiet, just staring at me, knowing very well that I would shout if he tried to speak.
He looked at me, silently asking for a ride till home. My angry look replied with a clear “No Thanks.” For the first time, my home felt so far from Rama Rao uncle’s house. I dragged myself forward, completely out of energy, my whole body aching as if needles were poked all over me.
* * *
The moment I saw Mom, I completely broke down. I cried uncontrollably, but she had no clue what had gone wrong. She kept asking all possible reasons, but I was not in a position to speak. What had happened was never in her list of possibilities; she could never imagine her daughter doing such a thing. Finally, when she mentioned that my monthly cycle might be the reason, I nodded yes, knowing it would avoid further complications.
As I had matured early and always suffered severe pain during those days, she easily related my condition to that. She felt relieved, thinking she had found the reason, and made arrangements for me to freshen up.
I felt guilty for lying, but I had no other choice. Somewhere inside, I kept thinking that anyway she only needed to worry about me for this evening, as I would not be there from tomorrow. That thought strangely made me feel a little calm.
The clothes I loved in the morning now felt like something I wanted to burn. They reminded me of everything that had happened. I washed them repeatedly, but some stains remained, marking my helplessness. The reason I told Mom saved me again—after I got fresh, she gave me tea. I drank it slowly, drawing strength just from her presence, while my mind kept calculating the easiest way to end my life.
People may think many things, but only what God wishes truly happens. That night, even though I planned countless ways to erase my presence from this world, I kept lying there, exhausted, covering myself to hide my tears, crying endlessly over the biggest mistake of my life. I kept thinking that if I had left right after the cake cutting, nothing would have happened. Somewhere during this storm of thoughts, I fell asleep.
I could hear Mom calling me for dinner. I replied that I was coming, but no words came out. She kept calling, even shouting. My mind ordered my body to move—hands, legs, everything—but nothing responded. I lay still, completely motionless. For a moment, I thought I was dead, that it was my soul giving instructions. Strangely, I felt happy and thanked God for such a peaceful death, believing it to be the punishment for what I had done.
* * *
8.7 Between Life and Death — A Mother’s Touch
My ears could sense the footsteps of Mom walking towards me. I wanted to say sorry to Mom. I could feel her warm hands touching me and hear her shouting to Dad at the top of her voice. I had mixed feelings—thinking she might have realized that I was dead and was calling Dad. She sat next to me, placing her hand on my head and moving the hair away from my forehead. Tears flowed down her cheeks and fell on my hands. I could feel the warmth of her tears.
Dad came running and started calling me with all his energy and love. Mom explained something to him, but I could hear nothing. Dad kept calling me, but there was no change in me. Dad took Mom’s place beside me, and Mom went out of the room. For a moment, I wondered how she could leave her dead daughter and go.
Mom came back with a bowl and milk. I could see it through my half-open eyes but could not open them fully. Seeing her return gave me strength, and it felt strange. If I was dead, how could Mom’s presence make such a difference? She placed a wet cloth on my head, wiped my hands and legs with another wet cloth, and started feeding me hot milk. I could feel the wetness on my skin and the warmth of the milk touching my lips, flowing through my throat.
I felt disappointed realizing that I was not dead and that I was alive. I started making slight movements with my hands and head. With great difficulty, I opened my eyes a little more and could see both Mom’s and Dad’s eyes filled with tears and joy. They asked many questions, which I could hardly hear or answer. Slowly, I realized I was burning with high fever. The wet cloth and Mom’s care slowly brought me back to my senses.
It took time for my body to respond to my mind. I could hear Mom telling Dad to get an auto to take me to a nearby doctor. Hearing the word “doctor” shocked me. I foolishly thought that the doctor would know everything that had happened and tell my parents. Fear made me cry and shake my head in refusal. Mom then asked Dad to get medicines instead. Dad checked my temperature at home and returned with tablets, tonic, and bread.
With great effort, Mom and Dad fed me bread so I could take the medicines. After that, I felt extremely drowsy. All I knew was that Mom stayed beside me that night. My plan for suicide, and even my dream of death, completely failed.
* * *
8.8 Recovery, Acceptance, and Choosing Life
By morning, the fever reduced, though I was still weak. God helped me in another way—I got my periods the next morning, even though they were due after a few days. I felt relieved, as it supported the lie I told Mom. Mom took proper care of me during that time. Internally, I was relieved for another reason too, as everything had happened unexpectedly.
It took nearly four days for me to recover. Rahul visited every morning and evening. I was not in the mood to talk or see him. The Rahul I loved now looked different to me. Still, he took good care of me and helped Mom and Dad with everything I needed.
Mom told him that I behave this way during my periods and asked him not to feel bad. He understood and never complained. He continued visiting regularly with “Get Well Soon” cards and roses. Slowly, I began to realize that what had happened was an accident and that there was no point in blaming only Rahul, as both of us shared responsibility.
Gradually, I started feeling better. Once I began talking to Rahul again, my recovery became faster. He cracked jokes, spoke gently, and helped me return to normal in just a couple of days. That was when I truly understood the importance of the people in my life and how much I mattered to them.
The thought of ending my life disappeared completely. I started loving my life again, realizing how blessed I was with the people around me. I returned to work, which helped me regain normalcy. Rahul visited occasionally after work, and I made sure to keep clear boundaries. He seemed to understand and respected it.
* * *
8.9 I Never Expected
After a long wait, happy news finally arrived—though not for me. Sandhya was blessed with a baby boy, and all of us were filled with excitement. I realized how distant she now was from my everyday life; otherwise, I would have spent all my time with her and her little one. Uncle extended his stay from three months to six after seeing his grandson. While we missed Uncle and Aunty deeply, we were also glad they could be with their daughter and newborn when it mattered most.
My responsibility of taking care of Uncle’s house also continued. After what had happened earlier, I requested either Mom or Dad to accompany me during those visits, as I wanted to avoid Rahul. Most of the time, Mom joined me, and for a few weeks, Rahul would also be around during the cleaning, which felt manageable since Mom was present. This time, however, both Mom and Dad were busy. I postponed the visit for a while, but eventually decided to go alone, determined to finish the work quickly without taking Rahul’s help.
* * *
As usual, I noticed Rahul as I entered Uncle’s house. He was cleaning his bike and greeted me, offering help, which I politely declined as I went upstairs. In the bathroom, the tap—unused for a long time—was tight with rust. When I tried to open it, it broke, and water burst out forcefully. I struggled to control it, but the water kept rushing, soaking me completely and flooding half the bathroom.
With no other option, I called Rahul for help. He rushed in immediately, unable to hide his laughter at the sight of me, drenched from head to toe while trying to hold the broken tap. He stepped in like a hero, quickly getting wet himself as he worked to control the water. Using his skills, he managed to stop the flow temporarily, though a plumber was needed for a permanent fix. In the midst of all this chaos, our closeness and emotions took over, leading to a moment neither of us had planned. This time, I stopped things before they went too far, mindful of what had happened earlier. Though he seemed slightly disappointed, he respected my decision. The moment left me feeling both shy and strangely happy.
I hurried to Sandhya’s room, locked the door, and dried myself thoroughly, changing into her spare clothes. Rahul stayed back in the bathroom. Later, just to tease him, I knocked on the door. When he finally came out, he looked relaxed and went downstairs to change. I finished the remaining cleaning and changed back into my own clothes, which had dried by then. As I was leaving, Rahul offered me a ride home, which I gently refused.
I often found myself surprised by my own actions. I had always been shy and reserved, yet I was doing things I never imagined I would. I couldn’t tell whether it was age, love, or something else, but despite knowing it wasn’t right, I found myself enjoying it. My conscience warned me constantly, but my desires seemed stronger.
I grew closer to Rahul with time, and Uncle’s house became a place that encouraged this closeness. Saying no to him became increasingly difficult. Each time we met, I would ask about engagement and marriage, and he would always say it would happen soon. Despite everything, I enjoyed his presence, and those moments became memorable for both of us.
We started going out for lunches, dinners, movies, parks, events, and long drives—sometimes informing our parents, sometimes hiding the truth. Initially, I felt guilty about lying, but gradually it became a habit. I knew what I was doing was wrong and that I might have to face consequences later in life—which I eventually did.
It felt like the rebirth of a different Rekha, beginning from Rahul’s birthday.
* * *
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