What I Almost Believed Her

The rule on the wall frightened me more than Vikram did. Paper is such a ridiculous weapon until it is the only thing standing between a powerful man and the habit of getting away with anything.

Sara did not need me to tell her what mattered. She saw the permission, photographed it, and found Naina Menon before I had finished organizing my objections. I kept my face polite and steady while Vikram behaved as if the room belonged to him personally. The worst part was how badly I wanted him to make a scene I could use. He gave me one, but he also tore down the rule like a man trying to erase the evidence in plain sight. Both of those things were true, and I hate that I could admire Sara’s nerve while also feeling like an amateur beside her.

I was afraid the lawful route might collapse just when it became useful. I still do not fully trust Naina’s terms, and I do not trust myself to separate caution from doubt. Every time I replay Vikram’s challenge, I hear the old question underneath it: what exactly are you doing here? I have asked that of clients for years.

At home, I added the photographs to the timeline with more care than the recording. Images can be dismissed as angles, bad light, convenient timing. Numbers and dates still bite. I wanted to feel certain. Certainty is usually just fear wearing a respectable coat.

I played guitar until my fingers complained. I did not solve anything. Still, I liked that Sara had noticed the rule before I did, and I hated that I liked it. I keep calling myself merely useful. Perhaps I want more than that.