Apologies Are Not Absolution

Arjun looked ashamed, but I kept waiting for the cleverer lie. When he apologized without asking for anything, I almost hated him for making me consider believing him. His guilt was genuine, and that frightened me more. A rehearsed villain would be easier to handle.

The photographs of Pulkit gave me an obscene second of satisfaction. I wanted to laugh at him, then at his family, then at myself for needing them to be monstrous before I could feel safe. I saved every image. Evidence feels less flimsy when it can wound the other person first.

I am proud of calling the independent lawyer. Calm is not the same as unafraid. I kept hearing Arjun list what they have—my messages, my money, my face at that farmhouse—and wondering how quickly a legal matter could turn into a life dismantling itself. I ate my dinner cold because touching a phone felt dangerous.

The worst choice was what to tell my parents. Lie again and protect the comfortable fiction, or make them carry something they never signed up for? I have lied professionally for years, but lying to my family feels like breaking a promise made before I had a proper vocabulary.

I sent Priya that I was safe. That tiny message felt embarrassingly necessary. I wanted her to know I was alive, but also wanted her to forget I had ever brought this into her life.