The sun rose over Mumbai, casting a golden glow over the crowded streets of Chameli Deshmukh's neighborhood. The city was already alive with the sounds of honking rickshaws, street vendors calling out their wares, and the distant hum of traffic. Chameli sat on the small balcony of her family's apartment, her legs dangling over the edge as she watched the world below. At fifteen, she was old enough to understand the struggles her family faced but young enough to still dream of a life beyond them.
Her father, Ramesh Deshmukh, was a failed businessman—a man who had once dreamed of building an empire but now spent his days drowning in debt and regret. Her mother had passed away when Chameli was just eight, leaving her to navigate the complexities of life with only her father's fractured guidance. Despite his failures, Chameli loved him fiercely. He was all she had.
"Chameli!" her father's voice called from inside the apartment. "Come inside and eat before you're late for school."
She sighed, reluctantly pulling herself away from the balcony. The apartment was small, with peeling paint and furniture that had seen better days. The smell of stale incense and yesterday's dinner lingered in the air. Her father stood in the kitchen, his shirt wrinkled and his face unshaven, stirring a pot of dal on the stove.
"You're going to be late again," he said, his tone more weary than scolding.
"I'm coming," Chameli replied, grabbing her schoolbag from the couch. She glanced at the stack of unpaid bills on the table, her stomach tightening. She knew things were bad, but her father never talked about it. Not really.
She sat down at the table, and her father placed a plate of dal and roti in front of her. He didn't eat, just stood there, watching her with a sad smile. "You're growing up so fast," he said, his voice soft. "You look just like your mother."
Chameli looked away, her cheeks flushing. She hated when he talked about her mother. It always made her feel like she was living in the shadow of someone she could barely remember.
******
After breakfast, Chameli grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The streets were crowded, as always, and she wove through the throngs of people with practiced ease. She passed the same street vendors every morning—the old woman selling flowers, the man with the cart full of colorful bangles, the chai wallah who always waved at her with a toothy grin.
She loved this part of her day, the brief moments of freedom before she had to sit through hours of classes. School was a refuge, a place where she could forget about the troubles at home. She was a good student, though she often found herself daydreaming during lessons. Her teachers said she had potential, but potential didn't pay the bills.
As she walked, she passed a group of boys from her school. They were lounging near a parked scooter, their uniforms untucked and their voices loud. One of them, a tall boy with a cocky grin, spotted her and called out, "Hey, Chameli! Looking good today!"
She rolled her eyes and kept walking, but the boy stepped into her path, blocking her way. "What's the hurry? Come talk to us for a minute."
Chameli stopped, her jaw tightening. "Move, Raj. I don't have time for this."
Raj smirked, leaning closer. "Why so serious? You're always so serious. Smile a little, huh? It won't kill you."
She glared at him, her hands gripping the straps of her bag. "I said move."
The other boys laughed, egging Raj on. "She's feisty today!" one of them called.
Raj didn't budge. "Come on, Chameli. Just one smile. That's all I'm asking."
Chameli's patience snapped. She stepped forward, her voice low but sharp. "If you don't get out of my way, I'll make sure everyone knows about the time you wet your pants in third grade."
The boys erupted into laughter, and Raj's face turned red. He stepped back, muttering, "You're no fun, you know that?"
Chameli didn't respond. She pushed past him and continued down the street, her heart pounding. She hated how they always tried to get under her skin, how they thought they could treat her like some kind of prize to be won. She wasn't a prize. She was a person.