Sonam at the glass, threat at four

Sonam — Niharika's older sister, someone I haven't seen since the 2024 era when she posted engagement photos and I posted gig flyers — saw me through the Bandra café window today. The half-smile was the worst part, not the question, not the loud voice that two other tables heard. The half-smile, because it meant she hadn't decided yet whether to be kind or cruel and I had to stand there and wait for the verdict while pretending to chew my sandwich. She asked, loud enough for the room, "so this is what you do in Mumbai now? hosting?" I chose silence. My jaw did the rest. I am so tired of explaining hosting to Jaipur people who left for "real careers." I would not trade my work for a desk. I would also like, once, to be seen as more than the girl who organises other people's joy for money.

A man at the counter asked if I was a celebrity. I wanted to snap at him. Heena — the lawyer who has been helping me file the takedown about Priya's leak — moved her chair between us like a small wall and I let her. The signature is not an autograph. The signature is the complaint.

Then the four o'clock message. "Heena-ji's café is also in Bandra. Nice weather for notarising." I read it twice. I paid the bill in cash. I told Heena to leave through the back. If anything happens to her because my name is on that page, I will not survive in the way I mean it. I will technically continue. I will be a different woman.

The maggi at the flat tasted like nothing. I ate it anyway. I have gotten good at eating food I cannot taste.