Love Before Graduation-Chapter 83: Bear’s Wedding

Sunlight filtered through the curtains and fell on the floor. Slow, like a new morning was arriving. But the room was heavy with silence, sharp and suffocating.

Papa was sitting there, holding his old revolver. Slowly, carefully cleaning it. There was that soldier's sternness in his movements, like he had learned something about life that we couldn't understand.

I came in, one shoe half on, hair all tangled, bag hanging loosely. "Papa, I'm taking the scooter today."

He didn't even look up.

"No."

Just one word, cold like a chunk of ice dropped on my heart.

"Why?"

He slowly turned the barrel of his revolver. "You'll have another accident. Then I'll have to read the accident report again during tea time."

I burned up inside. "I'm responsible!"

But he wasn't listening.

My brother came in, stretching like he just returned from some royal party, laughing. "Papa's right. She drives like an actress chasing imaginary villains in a Bollywood action movie."

I snapped, "Stop laughing!"

"Remember last time?" Papa asked in a sharp voice.

"It broke down." I defended myself.

"See? Every time, she blames the scooter."

"What if someone kidnaps me?" I lowered my voice, trying to sound serious. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Papa said, "Then the wedding expenses will be saved."

And with that, he got up and left. My heart sank.

My brother laughed like I was some kind of joke.

I picked up my bag and stepped out, like a defeated girl who lost the war but not the fight. The sky was strange—pink and dark clouds, the wind strong.

"Mood swings, even the weather," I muttered.

I hailed a rickshaw, told him the tuition location. The driver pointed to the seat. I sat down, clutching my bag tightly.

As the rickshaw moved, the rain started. Drops fell slowly, then faster.

"God, not today," I whispered inside.

But the rain didn't listen.

Sun rays gleamed through the rain.

"When it rains while the sun is shining, it's a bear's wedding," I told myself.

That old saying, which once sounded silly, felt somehow funny now.

"Wow! Surely there must be a bear's wedding happening," I said to the rickshaw driver, who laughed.

There was a strange understanding of life in his laughter—people like us, drenched in the rain, talking about bear weddings.

I reached tuition, wet and cold. Half the students were scattered in the classroom.

I called Nami.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"I'm all alone here!"

"Look outside, the whole city's a swimming pool."

"So?"

"Bye."

The call ended.

I sat down on the bench, wet, alone. Outside, the storm was yelling like a rebellious teenager. Inside, I was there—lonely, sad, and a girl hearing Nami's laughter in her head.