the watchman will smile tomorrow

The watchman did not know. I keep telling myself this because tomorrow morning I will have to walk past him with my dustbin and he will say good morning, Meera-ji like nothing happened. He saw a man ask for didi by name and he put me on. He did not check. I have already ranked him in my head and I know it is not fair and I am doing it anyway. I will not be able to look at him the same way.

I am angry at my brother tonight in a way I was not last night. His not yet felt like strategy then. Now it feels like a choice to leave me in this flat with two bolts, a chain, and a pin in my fist. Ritu's dots blinked for forty-five seconds before her first word landed. I timed it. When my best friend needs three-quarters of a minute to start a sentence, I am on my own with the door alarm.

The little girl keeps coming back. She did not know me. She asked if I fasted for Teej and I wanted to kneel and answer her properly and instead I just stood there holding a phone with his voice still warm in it. She went home to kheer. I sat on my kitchen floor and ate nothing. That is the entire math of tonight.

The farmhouse. Six weeks I have been building that October pitch and he said I will see you at the farmhouse like he was reading the file. There is only one I talk about in any detail. Three years of someone at my table and I never once thought she was writing things down.

The photo I sent earlier was for proof, not love. The one I posted on my story — soft pink camisole, messy bun, tired pretty face — was for me. A small claim on my own night.