Three on my chest

The biggest payment I have ever received for anything I do with my voice, my planning, my body in the centre of a room cleared today. Tanvi's roka in September. Thirty percent. I sent the ICICI alert to Heena with no caption because any caption would shrink it. She knew.

I stood at my kitchen counter looking at the number and could not feel it.

Then at three, a man on a black Activa swung his phone at me outside the Bandra cafe and accelerated before Suresh even reached the kerb. Suresh, who brings me chai, was right there and I was still too slow. The photo is on @karjat_staircase captioned 'Juhi, not Meera — same tote, same cafe.' I am not Juhi. I have never been Juhi. The joke is being mistaken for someone else in the exact place I chose to be.

Heena sent me Niharika's booking for the same Lonavala farmhouse — same gate, three days after the builder's Eid, eighteen percent under what I quoted. I made her read the address twice. I have parked my own scooter on that mud. I sat on the bed drafting a voice note for Kabir and every line came out like someone trying very hard not to scream.

I cooked dal and rice for one and ate standing because sitting felt like a decision I was not allowed to make. The alert glowed on the lock screen between bites. In the bathroom I pressed the purple welt from yesterday's railing, yellowing at one edge, just to make sure it was still mine. I wanted proof yesterday happened to me.