The Clock I Refused

I keep returning to the pause before Pulkit mentioned my parents. That pause was where I understood the threat was real: not a warning, but a rehearsal. He looked so calm saying it. I wanted to smash that calm out of him, and then I wanted to laugh because I could not even imagine what my face was doing.

Mr. Kapoor’s silence hurt more than an outright betrayal would have. If I had seen fear in him, at least I would know what he was choosing. Retreat means I have to decide what I can still count on, and I hate that I started calculating it so quickly.

The complaint in my bag feels flimsy beside everything they can pay for. A stamped copy proves only that I was frightened enough to ask for help. Still, writing the threats down made them smaller. The constable knew me, which made me briefly imagine calling Mum and hearing her panic. I did not call. I am ashamed of that relief. I wanted one hour where nobody knew what had happened to me.

I keep touching the sealed paper as though it could stop the seventy-two hours from ending. If I lose this case, I may lose everything. If I win, I still lose the fantasy that one clever performance could keep every family from throwing me away.

And beneath all that, the humiliating truth: I am terrified they chose Pulkit because I was always the easier person to threaten.