Caught Wearing Someone Else’s Face

I keep returning to that forwarded photograph. Somewhere, a stranger held up my face and passed it around until it became evidence. The fact that I cannot see who sent it makes it worse. I spent an hour arranging myself to look calm, trustworthy, and easy, and one forwarded image nearly undid all of it.

When Preeti looked at me, I felt strangely lightheaded. I could have confessed everything, and for one reckless second I wanted to. I wanted Amit’s family to know that their frightened girlfriend was hired, rehearsed, and disposable. I wanted the whole polished performance to collapse around me. Then I denied it badly. My voice cracked. I reached for water I did not want, and I looked at the wrong person as if guilt might choose a safer direction.

I was most afraid that Preeti would say my name. Names make lies specific. Without one, I could pretend this was merely an unfortunate resemblance between two women.

Amit’s confusion hurt more than his suspicion. He had paid for my certainty and received panic instead. I kept his messages unanswered because I could not decide whether an apology would sound professional, pathetic, or both.

Then Divya Menon gave the evening a new shape. Sakshi’s story may be the one weapon I understand how to hold. I wrote down the meeting time and felt bold for perhaps five minutes. Now I wonder whether I am finally choosing the side that matters, or simply finding a more respectable reason to continue lying.