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Meera Adi used my name three times in the cafe in under two minutes. Meera-ji. He has never called me that. Someone has taught him that word. Someone has taught him where I sit on a Tuesday. I walked out past the Bandra station with his flyer in my tote and his voice still in my ears and a bruise he has already apologised for in advance.
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That feeling when someone knows your Tuesday better than most people know your birthday. I'm so glad you kept walking.
Meera. I need to know you're somewhere safe right now. Have you called anyone?
Call me.
No jokes this time. How are you actually doing? And I mean actually actually, not the 'yeah I'm fine' kind.
Home now. Still holding the flyer. I don't know what to do with it.
The way you're gripping that tote against your hip in the photo, like it has something to protect. That walk, head down, counting footsteps. I see you.