THE SHADOWS IN THE RAIN

I

The rain fell in sheets over Tripureshwor, blurring the city lights into smudges of gold and red. I had been riding back from the office when the downpour hit, forcing me to pull my bike over at the bus stop and take a seat on the concrete bench. I’ve never been the type to carry a raincoat or an umbrella—I prefer to take the weather as it comes.

Pulling out my phone, I checked the time: 7:00 PM. I flicked on my mobile data and logged into Facebook, scrolling aimlessly through a feed that felt entirely hollow. Finding nothing of interest, I logged out and turned the data off again.

And then, the world shifted.

A car pulled up near the bus stop, and a young woman stepped out directly into the pouring rain. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and began to dance. Pure, uninhibited, fluid movement amidst the grey gloom of the evening. I sat frozen. In all my life, I had never found myself entirely captivated by a stranger. For a few minutes, the honking traffic and shouting drivers faded into a distant hum. Then, as angry motorists began to yell at her to move, she stopped, snapped back to reality, got back into her car, and drove away.

I stayed on that bench for two full hours until the rain finally eased. When I started my bike and rode home, her image was burned into my mind. The whole night, I couldn't stop thinking of her.

A week later, I found myself at my best friend’s wedding reception at Diyo Banquet in Chabhill, surrounded by my usual circle. Amidst the chatter and the clinking of glasses, I saw her. She was standing near the dessert counter, a plate in her hand.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked toward her, but the closer I got, the more my throat tightened. I couldn't utter a single syllable. I looked around desperately, paralyzed by nerves. And just as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished into the crowd.

Where did she go?

"Hey, hero," a familiar voice broke through my panic. Abhiral clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Where are you lost? And what are you searching for?"

"I saw her," I breathed, my eyes darting through the hall. "A girl. I was about to speak with her, but she disappeared."

"Who?"

"If I knew that, I’d have talked to her already."

Before Abhiral could press further, we were pulled toward the bridegroom for photographs. But my eyes kept scanning the room. Finally, I spotted her again near the corner table. Once more, my feet carried me toward her, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I summoned every ounce of courage, parting my lips to introduce myself—and she was gone.

She had left her plastic cup of water behind on a high stool. Without thinking, I reached out and slipped the cup into my coat pocket.

II

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and I had invited four of my closest friends over to my apartment—guys I’d known from my college days up through my Master’s degree, men with whom I shared every secret.

It was around 1:00 PM. We were lounging in my room when Abhiral grinned and said, "Let’s get a party started."

"Can you ever think of anything besides partying?" Rocky groaned from the corner.

"I agree," Sameer added, shaking his head. "Abhiral has zero seriousness."

"Will you guys shut up?" I snapped, sitting up straight. "I didn't invite you here to listen to your bickering. I brought you here for a story."

"Besides your work spreadsheets, you never talk about anything else," Abhiral teased.

"Shut up and listen. This is actually interesting."

I reached over to my bedside drawer, pulled out the plastic cup, and set it on the coffee table. Abhiral burst out laughing. "A used cup? That’s your big story?"

"Look closer," I said, leaning forward. "See that faint mark of lipstick on the rim? That cup is special."

"Where on earth did you pick up trash?" Sameer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"At Milan’s wedding," I said, finally telling them about the mysterious girl. As I recounted the two encounters—the rain and the banquet—the room went quiet. They were hooked.

Abhiral leaned back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Man, your love story sounds straight out of a Bollywood movie. Rehna Hai Tere Dil Mein."

"What do you mean?" I asked defensively.

"Think about it," Abhiral chuckled. "The hero meets the girl in the rain, then runs into her again at a wedding, and ends up obsessed with a token like a lipstick-marked cup. It's textbook cinema."

My friends laughed, but I sat frozen. He was entirely right. A chill ran down my spine—partly from the uncanny coincidence, and partly from a sudden, gnawing terror that I might never find her again.

III

A few days later, Abhiral and I were riding through New Road when I spotted her walking ahead on the crowded sidewalk.

"Fast!" I yelled over the engine roar. "Catch up!"

We sped down toward Basantpur, weaving through pedestrians, but she was gone. However, her companion—another young woman—was standing near a shop. Knowing how awkward I get around strangers, Abhiral took the lead, stepping up with a warm smile.

"Namaste," he greeted her.

She looked surprised. "Namaste. Do we know each other?"

"We're friends of Riya," Abhiral lied smoothly, thinking fast on his feet. "We saw you both calling out earlier, but you didn't hear us."

"So you're friends of Riya?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

"Yes! We studied together in 10+2, but we lost touch after graduation. We're planning a get-together, but nobody has her number anymore. Since we bumped into you, could you please share her contact?"

She hesitated, looking skeptical. "You can easily contact her through Facebook."

"I tried messaging her there," I finally spoke up, keeping my voice steady. "She didn't respond. I figured she must have forgotten me after all this time."

After a few minutes of smooth talking from Abhiral, the girl finally relented and gave us the digits. I clutched the number like it was the winning lottery ticket.

That evening, staring at my phone screen, my thumb hovered over the call button. Panic gripped me. I dialed, let it ring twice, and frantically disconnected. I repeated this agonizing cycle for over an hour until, inevitably, her phone went straight to voicemail—she had switched it off.

IV

Days blurred together until Saturday arrived. Abhiral had managed to pull strings through a mutual friend, setting up a casual gathering at A-one Café in New Baneshwor at 2:00 PM.

I arrived an hour early, dressed in a sharp blue t-shirt, a tailored coat, and black trousers. When the waiter came to take my order, I waved him away, my stomach tied in knots.

Abhiral arrived shortly after, grinning ear to ear. He shook my hand and patted my back. "I’m genuinely happy for you, man. I hope this works out."

"As if you speak from vast experience," I muttered nervously.

Rocky, Sameer, and Milan soon joined us, followed by Milan's wife. Everyone was present—except Riya. Every time the café door chimed, my head snapped around.

"She's on the way," Milan reassured me, noticing my agitation.

Then, the door opened, and she walked in.

The background noise of the café vanished. Soft, romantic melodies seemed to play entirely in my head. When she greeted the table, our eyes locked, and we exchanged a quiet, knowing smile. Though I wanted nothing more than to pull a chair beside her, my tongue felt like lead. I spent the next few hours conversing with my friends while stealing sideways glances at her every chance I got.

As the clock struck 7:00 PM and the group began to pack up to leave, I mustered every ounce of courage I had left. I stepped up beside her.

"Hi," I said softly.

"Hi," she replied, smiling, her cheeks tinting pink.

"Riya... can I get your number? So we can stay in touch properly this time."

"Sure."

It was a clumsy excuse since I already had it, but it worked. We exchanged numbers for real. That night, the moment I got home, I opened Viber and saw she was online.

“Hi,” I typed.

“Hi,” she replied instantly.

“It was great to meet you today.”

“Thank you. Same here.”

“Thank you.”

I stopped there, not wanting to push my luck. But the simple exchange sent me floating. I played romantic tracks at full volume in my room and, despite having two left feet, found myself dancing around the room like a fool.

V

Two months passed in a blur of warm dates, late-night chats, and quiet coffees. We were growing closer, but an invisible wall remained.

One evening across a quiet table at a café, I decided to take the plunge. "We've been dating for a good while now," I said, leaning forward. "We both have stable jobs. Why don't we get married?"

Riya froze. She set her coffee cup down slowly, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "Bipin, for you it might feel like a long time, but we've only truly known each other for two months. Why the rush? I need time to understand you better."

"Don't you like me?" My voice tightened defensively. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't say you don't want a future with me."

"It's not that. I care about you deeply, but I need at least a year."

"A year? For what?"

"Don't rush things, Bipin. Rushing leads to mistakes that can ruin lives."

I fell silent, sulking behind my coffee. Inside, a bitter frustration began to curdle. I wanted certainty, and she was offering patience—a luxury I felt I didn't have.

VI

As the months dragged on, the cracks widened. While we still met and chatted, whenever the topic of commitment or marriage arose, she would pull away. Worse still, the dynamic shifted entirely: I was always the one reaching out, calling, texting, and driving to see her. She never initiated.

Then, one week, she vanished completely. Her phone was switched off. Days turned into two agonizing months of radio silence. I had no idea where she lived, who her family was, or where to find her.

Desperate and losing my mind, I called Abhiral. He picked up on the first ring, chuckling. "Well, look who remembers me! Are you calling to invite me to the wedding?"

"Shut up, Abhiral. I need your help. Something is wrong."

"What kind of help?" His tone instantly sobered.

"Have you heard from Riya? Do you know anything about her?"

"No... how would I?"

I spilled everything—the silence, the dead phone, the utter dead-end of my knowledge about her life. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Don't worry," Abhiral said grimly. "Let me see what I can find out." He hung up.

Weeks crawled by. I sat at my office desk one afternoon when my phone rang. Seeing Abhiral's name flashed across the screen, I answered breathlessly.

"Hello?"

Silence on the line.

"Abhiral? What's happened? Say something."

His voice came out flat, cold, and heavy. "Bipin... it's better if you just forget Riya."

"What are you talking about?"

"She betrayed you, man. I dug around. Nobody knows anything about her, and nobody has seen her. She wiped herself clean. Forget her."

The call disconnected with a sharp click. Tears blurred my vision as the weight of abandonment crashed over me. Why? What did I do wrong?

VII

Bottles became my only companions. I started drinking heavily, dragging myself from bars to my apartment while drowning in memories of Riya. Abhiral stayed by my side through the worst of it, holding me back when I lost control, tolerating my drunken rants where I screamed her name into the night air.

Then, two months later, the universe played another cruel trick on me.

It was a Friday evening, and heavy rain was drumming against the pavement in Tripureshwor. I was standing under the shelter of a bus stop when a familiar car pulled up. Riya stepped out.

My heart leapt into my throat. Before I could process it, she turned back toward her vehicle, got in, and sped away. I jumped onto my bike and tried to follow, but she dissolved into the chaotic traffic.

For days, I hunted her through the streets. Finally, I spotted her walking into a café in New Baneshwor. I rushed inside, scanning the tables—only to find she had vanished into thin air again. Frustrated, I pulled out my phone and sat down at a corner table to kill time.

Then, I looked up. Sitting just a few tables away was Pabitra.

Pabitra?

My blood ran cold. The past—a past I had buried deep—reopened like a bleeding wound. What was the connection between Riya and Pabitra?

VIII

Years back, my life had been very different.

It was 8:00 AM at the gym. I was running on the treadmill when a woman stepped onto the machine beside me, offering a warm, inviting smile. I returned it. For weeks, our routine consisted of silent nods and shared glances until a week-long absence on my part broke the rhythm.

When I returned, she caught me by the treadmill. "Hi. You missed a week."

Her name was Pabitra. She was a school teacher with an English literature degree. We grew close quickly, sliding effortlessly into a casual physical relationship. But one night, about a year into our arrangement, she was at my apartment. It was past 8:00 PM; we had shared a bottle of wine and were standing by the window looking out at the city lights.

"Bipin," she said softly, her voice trembling.

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something." She looked terrified. "I'm pregnant."

I froze. The alcohol in my veins turned to ice. "What did you say?"

"I'm carrying your child, Bipin."

"Are you insane?" Anger surged through me, hot and violent. "I never promised you anything permanent! I used you for company, nothing more. I don't love you."

"Then what about the baby?" Tears spilled over her lashes. "How can you say that?"

"Get an abortion. Do whatever you want, but don't expect me to marry you or play house."

"How can you be so cruel?"

The argument escalated into a screaming match. Blinded by rage and panic over how easily my life could be upended, I grabbed a heavy brass vessel from the nearby shelf and struck her across the temple.

She collapsed instantly.

The room went dead silent. Panic washed over me in a tidal wave. I dropped to my knees and checked her pulse. Nothing.

She was dead.

In a state of pure dissociation, I wrapped her body in a tarp, carried it down to my car, and drove deep into the secluded forests outside the city. Under the cover of darkness, I heaved her body over a steep embankment into the dense brush where no one would ever look.

IX

Present time.

How could Pabitra be alive? I had killed her with my own hands. I threw her body where no eyes could reach. Was I losing my mind? Was guilt finally fracturing my sanity?

The next day—a Saturday—I staked out the Maitidevi temple at 8:00 AM, knowing it was a place she used to frequent. Sure enough, there she was in the morning queue. I bolted toward her, calling her name—and in the blink of an eye, she melted into the crowd.

That night was entirely sleepless. In the early hours, my phone rang. Without checking the screen, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Bipin. How are you?"

It was Pabitra's voice, clear as day. Then—click.

My phone rang again immediately. "Hello?"

"I'm back." Click.

The phone kept ringing and disconnecting through different numbers all night long. The psychological torture pushed me to the absolute edge of madness.

X

By Monday at the office, my nerves were frayed to wire-thin tension. My phone buzzed on my desk.

"Hello?" I barked.

"Hello, Bipin. Please... help me."

It was Riya’s voice, terrified and breathless, before the line went dead. I dialed her back instantly, but it went straight to voicemail.

The exact same thing happened the next day: an unknown number, Riya's voice pleading for help, and a dead line. Pabitra was haunting my nights; Riya was calling for my help by day. My world was spinning out of control.

XI

A week later, the clock read 6:00 PM. I was still at my desk when my phone buzzed one last time.

"Hello?"

"Don't you want to save Riya?" Pabitra's voice hissed through the speaker.

"Pabitra? Is Riya with you? What have you done?"

"If you want to see her alive, come get her." She rattled off an address I had never heard of—a remote location far past Dhulikhel, deep within the forest tracts.

I drove like a madman, arriving two hours later. The surroundings were pitch black, dominated by a massive, looming jungle and an abandoned, rotting wooden cabin. Stepping inside, I turned on my phone’s flashlight. The air smelled of damp earth and old dust. Portraits hung crookedly on the peeling wallpaper, staring down at me with hollow eyes.

I pushed my way upstairs, calling out Riya’s name. No answer. The oppressive silence was broken only by the creak of floorboards under my boots.

Suddenly, a heavy blow struck the back of my head. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and darkness swallowed me whole.

When I finally regained consciousness two hours later, I was strapped firmly to a wooden chair.

Two figures stepped out of the shadows into the dim light: Riya and Pabitra.

I stared, my breath catching in my throat. "You... how do you two know each other?"

"Surprised?" one of them asked, a cold smile playing on her lips.

"We are sisters," the other replied.

"What? But neither of you ever mentioned a family!"

"We didn't need to," Pabitra said, stepping closer. "And for the record... I'm not Pabitra. I'm Nisha. We are triplets."

"Triplets?"

"Yes," Nisha said, her eyes blazing with fury. "Pabitra told me everything about you. She loved you blindly, unconditionally. But one day, she vanished. We searched everywhere, went to the police, and eventually found her body dumped in the woods, along with the evidence that she was carrying your child. So, we hatched a plan to make you pay. Riya and I orchestrated everything to trap you here."

A strange sound broke the tension.

I started to chuckle. Then, I laughed out loud.

Nisha froze, her expression shifting from righteous anger to pure confusion. Riya, standing beside her, didn't look angry at all—she just offered a calm, knowing smile.

"What's happening here?" Nisha demanded, looking between us. "Riya, why aren't you furious?"

"Because," I said, leaning against the ropes holding me, "Riya knows the whole truth."

"What truth?"

Riya stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Nisha’s shoulder. "Nisha, listen to me. Bipin didn't kill Pabitra."

Nisha stared at her sister as if she had lost her mind. "What are you talking about? Her body was found!"

"Let me explain," I said smoothly, my mind working fast to weave the narrative I had prepared. "Yes, Pabitra loved me, but I rejected her proposal. My so-called best friend back then—Rakesh—was a wealthy, unhinged guy who knew everything about my personal life. He manipulated the situation, lured Pabitra to a lodge under my name, and assaulted her. When Pabitra confronted me later about the pregnancy, I was furious—not at her, but because I realized what Rakesh had done. We argued, and in the heat of the moment, I struck her accidentally.

"Panicking, I rushed her to a clinic, but she didn't make it. Knowing Rakesh was the real monster—and knowing my own hands were partially dirty—I hid the body to protect the secret, while secretly hunting for Rakesh. But he had already fled the country. The body you found wasn't entirely what you thought, and I kept silent all these years out of sheer guilt and fear."

Nisha’s jaw trembled. "You're lying..."

"I'm not," Riya chimed in softly. "Bipin told me everything months ago. The voice clips you heard? We used old recordings. I knew who you were from the start, Nisha. We brought you here not to hurt Bipin, but to clear the air once and for all."

Silence settled over the dark room. Nisha looked between us, her defenses crumbling as the weight of the elaborate truth—or the one we had constructed—settled over her. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Can you ever forgive me?" I asked, looking straight into her eyes with manufactured remorse. "I carry the weight of Pabitra every single day."

Nisha wiped her face, breathing heavily, before slowly walking over and untying the ropes binding my wrists. "If... if what you're saying about Pabitra's child is true... just leave us in peace."

"I will," I said softly, rubbing my wrists.

XII

Two weeks later.

I stood at the boarding gate of the airport, a single suitcase by my side. Nobody knew I was leaving. Nobody knew where I was truly going.

The story I had spun about Rakesh, the accident, and the alternate body had worked to perfection. Both Riya and Nisha had bought every single word, their thirst for revenge neutralized by manipulated sympathy.

They thought I was fleeing out of lingering guilt. But the truth was far darker.

Pabitra hadn't been the first. Over the years, there had been others—quiet disappearances that no one ever connected back to me, bodies left where the jungle swallowed them whole. Riya and Nisha were simply the latest chess pieces I had manipulated to ensure my own survival.

As the boarding call echoed through the terminal, I smiled to myself. Riya still believed I was heading off to start a new life elsewhere, mourning the past. But my flight wasn't heading to the United Kingdom, nor was it heading back to the city.

The destination on my ticket read United States, and as I stepped onto the aircraft, I left the ghosts of Kathmandu far behind me, ready to begin again.