She saw me at the counter

I bought that SIM thinking I was smart. Cash, no card, no trail. Hoodie up, cap low, early morning rush at Andheri — nobody looks at a tired girl buying a Jio. I had the whole little ritual rehearsed in my head. And someone did look. Someone stood inside the station, phone up, and waited for me to pay. The wrapper in my hand. My face in the frame.

The photo arrived at 11:14 p.m. like a postcard from a person who knows my address better than my landlord does. I keep staring at the caption — We see the burners. Niharika sends her regards — and the grammar of it. She didn't even type it herself. She told someone to type it for her. That is the part that makes my teeth go tight. I have known Niharika since the BBA section at NM, and even now she can't be bothered to type her own threat. She has people for that. People with Telegram handles like cartoon villains.

Then the second ping. The booking. Lonavala farmhouse, the same one I had circled, the same Saturday, the same window of dates. She is not only watching me — she is moving into my calendar. The slot is mine. It has been mine in my head for weeks. I had told Kabir I was going to announce it. And now her name is sitting on the venue roster three days after the builder's Eid-weekend, like she was always going to be there.