The rain didn't just fall it accused.
Sharp and relentless, it hammered the streets outside the ceremony hall with a cold, unfeeling rhythm that matched the pounding in Rahul's chest. Water pooled around his shoes, seeping through the worn leather, soaking his shirt until it clung to his skin like a curse—heavy, suffocating, dragging him down.
Ananya's grip on his arm was firm as she pulled him away from the chaos he'd almost caused, away from Niraj's mocking laughter still echoing from the dressing room. Her fingers were cold, deliberate—too precise to be comforting. Not the touch of a girlfriend worried for her boyfriend. Something else. Something that made the hair on the back of Rahul's neck rise.
They stopped under the overhang at the side entrance, where the ceremony's marigold mala decorations hung limp and dying, petals scattered across wet concrete like tiny corpses. The orange light spilling through the hall windows painted the rain in bruised gold, but out here—it was all shadows, silence, and something unspoken hanging between them.
Rahul opened his mouth to thank her, to explain, to apologize for losing control—
"What are you doing here?"
Her voice was flat. Almost bored. Like she was asking about the weather.
Rahul blinked, the words barely cutting through the roar of the rain. "Kya?"
"What are you doing here, Rahul?" she repeated slowly, each word deliberate and edged. "At this ceremony. Making a scene."
Confusion and anger rose in him like bile. "What am I—Ananya, didn't you see what happened inside? Niraj cheated! He—"
"Haan haan, I saw him." She cut him off with surgical precision. "But what are you trying to prove? What's this going to accomplish?"
Her tone didn't just question—it judged. And for the first time, Rahul saw something in her eyes that scared him. Not anger. Not pity. Calculation.
"What do I want?" Rahul's voice cracked, teeth chattering from cold and fury mixing in his veins. "I lost everything today, Ananya. My sapna, my future, my respect—he bribed his way up while I—while I studied till my eyes bled, while I skipped meals, while I—"
"So what?"
The words were so casual, so dismissive, that Rahul almost laughed.
"What?" he whispered.
"So what if he bought it?" Her voice was brittle now, detached. She wasn't even looking at him anymore, her gaze fixed on the glowing hall where people in crisp uniforms were still celebrating. "Just leave it. Chhod do, Rahul. Move on."
The words hit him like ice water.
"Leave it?" His voice trembled. "How can you say that? Why are you... defending him?"
Her eyes snapped back to his. The mask fell. Whatever warmth had once lived there was gone.
"Because you're nikamma, Rahul."
The word sliced through the rain.
"You studied so hard, yes?" she continued, her voice calm, almost curious. "You worked so much, right? And still—one rank below Niraj. One. Do you know what that says about you?"
Rahul's lungs forgot how to breathe.
"This isn't you," he muttered, shaking his head. "Yeh tum nahi ho…"
"It says you're not good enough. Not smart enough. Not worthy enough." Her tone softened—mock sympathy. "And I don't have time to waste on someone who's going nowhere."
Behind them, the doors creaked open.
"Hey, Ananya."
Niraj's voice—smooth, arrogant, self-satisfied. He stepped into the rain, holding a plastic cup of wine like a trophy. Real wine, at an official event. Because rules didn't apply to people like him.
Rahul watched as Ananya changed. Just like that.
Her hardness melted. Her smile bloomed again—soft, charming, perfect. The kind of smile Rahul had once believed was only his.
"I'll be right back," she said gently, her tone almost kind. Then she walked toward Niraj, her dupatta brushing past Rahul's arm like a whisper.
She wasn't wearing a mask for him.
She'd been wearing it for me.
Niraj's smirk grew as he approached, every step deliberate. The scent of his cologne mixed with rain and wine.
"She's mine now." His voice was conversational, almost amused. "Don't talk to her again. Actually—" He sipped the wine lazily. "Don't even look at her. It makes her uncomfortable."
Rahul's fists clenched. Nails dug into raw skin. "Why?" he whispered. "Why did you do this?"
Niraj laughed, not kindly, but with the ease of someone who enjoyed breaking others.
"Because she loved you," he said simply. "And that made you my enemy. I always win, samjha?"
He leaned close, eyes gleaming. "People like you are meant to lose. Rich earth, poor dirt. Natural order."
Rahul saw himself reflected in Niraj's eyes—small, drenched, humiliated.
The storm inside him broke.
He ran.
Through the rain-soaked streets of Bhopal, past flickering chai tapris, shuttered shops, and the smell of roasted peanuts mixing with diesel and wet dust.
Every sound became accusation. Every raindrop, a whisper—useless… useless… useless.
By the time he reached his rented room in TT Nagar, he was shaking. The door slammed behind him, lock clicking like a gun being cocked. He stared at his reflection in the small cracked mirror. A stranger stared back.
Then came the pounding.
"Rahul! Darwaza khol yaar!"
Mohan's voice, worried, breathless. "I saw you running—what happened, bhai? Khol na!"
Rahul slid down to the floor, back against the door. "Please... leave me alone."
Silence. Then Mohan's voice, softer. "Theek hai, bhai. But don't break. Don't let them break you."
His footsteps faded.
Rahul sat in the dark, the sound of rain hammering against the tin roof, his heartbeat syncing with it until he couldn't tell which was which.
Two days passed like infection spreading slowly through his veins.
He went to class because routine was the only thing left. Professors spoke, chalk squeaked, fans creaked overhead—life went on. But not for him.
Then he saw them.
Ananya and Niraj.
Back row. Laughing. Whispering. Her head tilted toward his shoulder like it belonged there.
Something inside Rahul tore.
"Hey, hero," a voice sneered. Niraj's friends approached, eyes full of malice.
"Still crying about that exam?"
"Your Ananya looks happy, bro," another added with a grin. "Maybe she just got tired of losers."
Rahul's knuckles whitened. His pulse thudded in his ears.
"Useless boy," one of them whispered, his breath hot against Rahul's cheek.
That word again.
Useless.
It echoed with Ananya's voice in his head—cutting, overlapping, consuming.
His fist moved before his brain caught up.
The punch landed with a crack. The boy folded, gasping. Chaos erupted. Desks crashed. Shouts filled the air.
Rahul fought like a cornered animal, blind and desperate, every blow an answer to the word useless.
Then the crowd parted—and Niraj stood there. Calm. Smiling.
"Who the hell are you," he said slowly, "to touch my people?"
"Who the fuck are you," Rahul shot back, blood dripping from his knuckles, "to destroy my life?"
Niraj laughed. The same cruel laugh from that rainy night.
"You lost, Rahul. Accept it. You're nikamma. Always will be."
Something inside Rahul finally broke—silently, completely.
When the professors dragged him away, his hands were shaking, his breath shallow.
Outside the window, the rain fell again. Cold. Merciless.
He stared at it blankly as the principal's voice droned about suspension, punishment, disappointment. None of it mattered.
The rain wasn't outside anymore.
It was inside him. Filling his lungs. Pulling him under.
Maybe I was always meant to drown, whispered that dark voice in his mind.
Maybe useless is all I'll ever be.