The stairwell and the envelope

The builder's hands were warm and his wife was in the kitchen. I smiled three times. I counted.

This is the part I will not screenshot, not save, not turn into evidence. The part where his thigh found mine under the tablecloth and stayed there like it had every right. Aap se zyada sundar koi nahi. His breath smelled like cardamom and I thought, this man has a wife in the next room and I am twenty-seven and I have a degree from Rajasthan University that nobody asked about. I smiled. I smiled. I smiled.

At 7:42 I was in the stairwell and I called mummy and I cried and I said the thing I will never say out loud to anyone — mujhe ghar aana hai — and she said beta kya hua and I said kuch nahi and the half-truth held, it always holds, because what is the alternative? What do I say? Baba, someone slid a photograph under a door with a man's name on it and I don't know who Kishan is but he knows my face and I am eating dinner on the floor of a Bandra flat with the phone propped against a water bottle like everything is fine.

The unknown number called while I was getting into the auto. I watched it ring. I never watch it ring. I almost answered. I filed it under Lower Parel 4 Oct like it was a contact and not a threat and I went home and I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a long time and I looked at my own face the way a stranger would look at it and I thought, is that what he saw? Is that the thing?

My wrist still hurts. I don't know from what.