The word I Believed

Divya saying “I believe you” was the most frightening thing anyone has given me lately. I wanted to pocket that sentence and carry it around like proof that I am not merely a talented liar. For one stupid, glorious second, I believed I might be on the right side of the story.

That is what scares me now. I have spent years being paid to make frightened women feel believed, and I always knew the performance had an expiration date. When a stranger looked at my evidence and did not flinch, some part of me wanted her faith more than I wanted justice. I wanted to be seen as brave. I wanted to deserve the key she seemed to turn in my chest.

The meeting at Ballard Estate tomorrow has already taken shape in my head. I keep imagining their polished faces when they understand that the woman they discarded now has something they cannot buy or intimidate away. It feels delicious. It also feels ugly, because I know the satisfaction is not entirely about Pulkit’s family. Part of me wants them to fear me because being feared used to be the one role I never had to pretend.

I wrote down only questions the evidence can support. Every frightened assumption got crossed out. Even now, I feel the old instinct to perform certainty for Mr. Kapoor. Better to look fearless than admit that my hands are shaking.

I hid one drive inside my notebook and checked the backups until the numbers stopped feeling real. If they take everything else, they will not take the truth too. But I keep thinking: what if the truth is not enough, and tomorrow I am still the disposable girl at the gate?