Who is she?
The rain had eased a little. By now, the streets of Kolkata were flooded with water. After making a firm promise, Kushal set out on his bicycle.
Jaya said, "Go carefully. Call me once you reach."
Kushal nodded and left. The roads were still ankle-deep in water. From Apu's house to Kushal's home, it would take about twenty-five minutes by bicycle. Central Kolkata is a world of its own. Here, people from high-rise apartments pass over the lives of those living on the footpaths, while the middle class remains caught in between. In short, in this part of the city, you'll find everyone—from cobblers to owners—sharing the same space. And after all, this city carries many faces within a single body; its colors change from one neighborhood to another.
Kushal pushed his bicycle along for quite some time. Suddenly, heavy rain began pouring again. He parked the bicycle under the shade of a shop and stood there, trying to shield himself from the rain. The city was without light today—just five minutes ago, the power had gone out due to the downpour.
Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Kushal wiped his head and glanced to his side. A girl was standing there. There was no light under the shop's shade—and even if there had been, the power was out. Her face was partially covered with a scarf; she wore a salwar and carried a side bag on her shoulder. Kushal couldn't make out anything more. Even though he tried not to look, his eyes kept drifting toward her again and again. He tried to catch a glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye. A scooter stood nearby—Kushal assumed it belonged to her.
The rain intensified, accompanied by loud claps of thunder. Kushal took out a cigarette from his bag and lit it. He took a drag and exhaled the smoke. By nature, Kushal was somewhat absent-minded. Even though he noticed the girl beside him, he pretended not to. The very first puff of smoke drifted toward her. Immediately, she began coughing.
Kushal quickly threw away the cigarette and said, "Oh… sorry, sorry. I didn't realize. Please forgive me."
He took out his water bottle from his bag to offer her, only to find it empty. With no other option, he put it back.
The girl took out her own bottle, drank some water, and said, "I absolutely cannot tolerate the smell of cigarettes."
Her voice was mesmerizing. Kushal felt like he could listen to her forever. Just hearing that one line sent a strange ache through him.
She spoke again, "I'll move over there. You can light another one."
Kushal replied like a guilty man, "No, no, you stay here. You'll get wet there. I won't smoke again. Don't worry."
The girl said nothing more. But Kushal kept waiting for her to speak again. Still, he didn't dare to look at her directly.
After about ten minutes, the girl said, "Do you have a phone? My phone has switched off, and if I don't call home, my mother will get worried."
Kushal took out his phone and said, "Here."
The girl reached out and took it. At that very moment, lightning flashed brightly. Kushal's eyes fell on her hand—and he was startled. A cold shiver ran through his entire body. Her hand looked horribly disfigured.
As she tried to cover it, her scarf slipped from her face. Another flash of lightning lit up the scene. Kushal looked at her face—and recoiled in shock. One side of her face was burned; the skin hung unevenly, and one eye seemed deeply sunken. Behind that sweet voice lay a face so scarred that Kushal instinctively stepped back and fell onto the road.
The rain was so heavy that he was drenched within seconds. By then, his phone was still in the girl's hand, and she quickly covered her face again.
Kushal felt as if the lightning itself had struck through his body. Fear left him speechless; his eyes turned red with panic.
Somehow, he grabbed his bicycle and fled from there—as if he had seen a ghost. His phone remained with the girl.
The city continued to soak in the rain. Kushal trembled in fear. And along with the rainwater, the girl's tears blended into the streets.
(To be continued)