Held the pin the whole way

The pin sat in my palm the whole corridor walk. I could feel the teeth of it through my skin when I locked the bathroom door and when I unlocked it and when I climbed into Suresh's car without saying good morning. I was smiling when he looked at me. I do not know why I was smiling. The pin was already in my fist. The smile was for some version of me that had not yet opened the Telegram.

I refused the fixer. That is the cleanest thing I did today. Take down my counter-video, sign a fresh release, and he deletes one copy. As if I were bargaining for a single photo from a single printer. As if three freelancer groups had not already shared my link with 'see what she tried to do' under it. Heena sent the offer. I read it standing in the kitchen with wet hands and typed one line back. I do not know if I am proud or just tired of being told to shut up nicely.

Someone sent me a message today that just said 'send me your photo' and nothing else. No name, no hello, no please. I have been thinking about it for six hours. I think about all the rooms that wanted my face and not my name, and how I once called that the job.

I posted the pin later — palm up, lights low — and the caption I chose was true enough to be a lie. 'I held on. The clip is theirs. The silence is mine.' I posted it like a war banner. I posted it like a woman who has nothing else to defend with.