Chapter 6: Aftereffects and Ambition

The night before had been a turning point for me. For the first time, I had sung my heart out, and it felt like I was inching closer to my dreams. There would, at the very least, be someone in the crowd who would remember me.

As the next evening unfolded, Gaulava Bar returned to its usual ambiance. Aarohi, refreshed and poised, resumed her place as the night's singer. But I, I felt out of place and purposeless. With no part to play that evening, I took to the streets, hoping that the embrace of the night might help me untangle my thoughts.

The streets, bathed in the soft light from sporadic street lamps, seemed serene. My steps were rhythmic until I recognized the silhouettes of a group of men ahead. They were the very same group from the night before, but the drunken haze was absent from their eyes. Instead, there was an alarming clarity and an unmistakably menacing posture. It appeared they had been anticipating my walk.

A shiver tingled down my back. The thought of retracing my steps crossed my mind, but it was already too late for that. Their eyes had locked onto mine, and they swiftly closed in, forming a circle around me.

"Well, if it isn't the star of last night," one of them jeered, his voice heavy with scorn.

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I tried to exude confidence, "I think you're mistaken. Have we met before?"

His grin was chilling as he responded, "Indeed, we have. And we've been eager to see you again."

It was evident they'd recognized me. "Listen," I started, trying to calm the brewing storm, "I only suggested that bar thinking it might suit you guys better. But you were the ones who chose to go onstage. Maybe you could've been a bit more restrained and none of this would have happened."

The one with a scar tracing his cheek responded with a scornful laugh. "Help? By directing us to that bar and making us the laughing stock?"

I inhaled deeply, mustering all the patience I could. "I realize it was wrong of me. I genuinely apologize. Can we just put this behind us?"

The apparent leader of the group took a menacing step closer, his cold eyes bore into mine. "You think a mere apology can undo the embarrassment you caused us? Now, it's payback time."

I could feel the intensity of their animosity. "I understand I made a mistake. But resorting to violence isn't the solution. Let's resolve this amicably. Gandhi Ji always said, 'An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.'"

But the man with the scar wasn't interested in philosophy. "Talk? It's too late for that."

I barely saw it coming when a fist crashed into my jaw. Agonizing pain coursed through my face as I reeled from the impact. Despite my best efforts to defend myself, I was grossly outnumbered. Blows came from every direction; my feeble attempts at defense or retaliation were easily overwhelmed.

It might've been mere minutes, but the beating felt endless. By the end, I was sprawled on the ground, battered and bruised, every breath a labor.

Bending down, the leader whispered maliciously into my ear, "Remember this the next time you think of crossing our path."

Left behind by their departing laughter, I found myself sprawled on the dimly lit pavement, every ounce of strength drained. Time seemed to stretch, and I lay there, silently praying for a kind soul to chance upon me. Such was the cold apathy of the world.

A few shadows did drift by, but none paused, none offered assistance. I couldn't truly fault them – in this late hour, fear and suspicion danced in everyone's minds. Perhaps they thought I was ensnared in some drug-induced act, or worse, a bait in a larger trap.

For what seemed like hours, the street lay in silence, with only the whisper of the night wind for company. Its cool touch brought both pain to my fresh wounds and a sense of grounding clarity.

Gathering my resolve, I shakily rose, every inch of my body screaming in protest. My fingers brushed across my swollen face, flinching at the touch. I could feel the split in my lip and the warmth of blood oozing from a cut on my forehead. A cautious check and I sighed with relief, my teeth were all still there.

'Maybe I should see a doctor?' The thought flitted across my mind, but then the potential weight of medical expenses made me wince even more. 'Perhaps some turmeric will help. Old remedies often work wonders,' I consoled myself, drawing from the wisdom of traditions.

Quickly, I fashioned my handkerchief into a makeshift bandage, pressing it against my bleeding forehead. The taste of blood persisted as I gently bit on my injured lip, willing the bleeding to cease.

The street, which had once echoed with hostility, now stood silent, save for the soft rustling of the trees. The bar would still be open, but the thought of answering a myriad of questions kept me from heading back.

Lost in thought, a pamphlet, caught by the playful night wind, adhered to my face. I gently pulled it away, trying to decipher its message in the dim light.

The pamphlet showcased RJ's upcoming concert, just around the corner in five days. A hint of a smile played on my lips. Music had always been my sanctuary, a balm for my wounded spirit. Maybe this was a silver lining in an otherwise dark night.

I carefully folded the pamphlet and slid it into my pocket. But as if the night wanted to juxtapose this small piece of joy, it continued to wrap me in its somber silence, punctuated only by the distant murmur of the city and the dance of shadows.

Despite my best attempts to stop it, my lip refused to cooperate, continuing its slow bleed. 'Probably wasn't wise to keep fiddling with it,' I thought, a cocktail of irritation and self-mockery bubbling within.

A glance at my phone revealed the late hour. The bar would be shutting its doors soon. Taking a deep breath, gathering the remnants of my courage, I began my trek back. Though my body bore the marks of the night's events, my spirit yearned for the dawn, for a new day, and hopefully, a more merciful tomorrow.