circled in red at six pm

Three days until the roka and I am sitting on Heena's bed in a sleep slip wondering how a woman is supposed to pick an outfit for her own engagement when her name is circled in red on a police register page. That is the actual shape of my week. I have not told mum.

The cousin. I keep coming back to the cousin. Why does the cousin have the main number? Why is the cousin refreshing the women-cell register like it is a cricket score? The cousin sent one image at six pm, no text, and I have been trying to decode the no-text for seven hours. If the cousin was protecting me the cousin would have called. If the cousin was betraying me the cousin would have hidden it. The cousin just showed me the page. That is worse than either.

The male sub-inspector at the counter walked past with a folded printout and did not bother to conceal it. My face was on the top half — the Bandra freight elevator, the dupatta, the timestamp, the source URL redacted but the file name not. I know about file names now. I learned that today between 11am and noon in a plastic chair while Heena held my forms.

The bruise is a dull throb I have stopped noticing. The officer is going to photograph it. A body Heena has never seen photographed and which the officer will now want to photograph herself. I keep thinking about the word herself. The state has a herself for me. The state is a woman with a camera.