Swathi’s hand trembled as she drew the dupatta away from her face. She felt exposed—vulnerable—but also, strangely, lighter, as though a heavy weight she had carried silently for months was finally lifting.

She took a deep, shaky breath and began to speak.

“I… I don’t know how it started… where it started… or who’s behind this,” she whispered, her voice barely steady. “But… I’ve been getting calls and messages—more than ever before—for the past two months. To be precise… since the 2nd of August.”

A quivering breath escaped her lips, and she pressed her palms against her knees, trying to steady herself.

“I ignored them at first,” she admitted, “I thought it was just spam. But the calls… they kept coming. They kept increasing. And then… I finally answered one.”

Her eyes closed briefly, as though trying to brace herself against the memory.

“He asked me… how much I charge for a day.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Samira, Aryahi, and Niyati sat still, listening.

“I… I snapped at him,” Swathi continued, voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “I yelled, ‘Excuse me? What rubbish are you talking about?’”

Her eyes hardened as she recalled the words that had cut into her like knives.

“‘Just name your price,’ he said. ‘No need to act high and mighty, bitch.’”

“I… I hung up,” she whispered. “I was scared, and angry. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. But then… I made the mistake of answering another call. I thought… maybe I’d get some answers. Maybe I’d understand why these people kept calling me, what they wanted.”

Her voice faltered, breaking under the weight of the memory.

“He didn’t answer any of my questions… but at least… at least he accepted my ‘no.’ I thought… I thought he was a decent man. But before ending the call… he said—”

Swathi’s voice broke completely.

“‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’ll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. Don’t worry about the money—I pay generously… as long as I find you worth it.’”

She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “That’s his version of decency,” she said, her lips curling with contempt.

A choked, trembling voice broke through the thick, suffocating silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Swathi? Why?”

It was Nivedita. Her words tumbled out, fast and raw, trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “We had a deal… we share everything. No matter how stupid, no matter how silly… did you forget that? I told you everything—everything! Even my… my arranged marriage mess. And you—”

Her voice broke. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m such a fool… to think you’d honor that promise.”

Her face was a storm of heartbreak, the kind that comes from feeling powerless when someone you love is hurting.

“Nivi, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” Swathi said quickly, her words rushing out, desperate to explain. “You already had enough problems. I didn’t want to add more…”

“Don’t justify it, Swathi,” Nivedita snapped, her voice trembling with raw emotion, her hands shaking slightly.

Samira’s calm, firm tone cut through the tension. “Nivedita… Can you step out and help Surya? He might need a hand.”

Nivedita turned toward her, disbelief flashing across her face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You heard me,” Samira said evenly.

Nivedita’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Do whatever you want… like I care.” She spun on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps echoing sharply down the corridor.

Samira turned back to Swathi, her expression softening, a quiet warmth seeping through her steady gaze.

“Give her some time,” she said gently. “She’ll come around.”

“But ma’am—” Swathi began, her voice small, uncertain.

Samira offered a reassuring nod. “Trust me,” she said softly. “She’ll come back. She just needs a moment.”

With trembling fingers, Swathi unlocked her phone and handed it over. Her voice was low, steadier than she felt.

“Ma’am… you should see them.”

Samira took the phone, her brows knitting as she scrolled. Niyati and Aryahi leaned in over her shoulder, their faces taut with tension, each new line tightening the knot in their stomachs.

The first message glowed on the screen:

How do you charge? By the hour, or by the day?

Another followed, lewd and invasive:

You look beautiful in those photos… do you look that sexy beneath the clothes?

Then came another:

I’m at the office and badly need it. Just a quick one, baby.

I’m very kinky. What are your kinks? Your limits? Are you ready to push past them?

I’m rough in bed—can you handle a man who dominates? If I’m satisfied with your services, I’ll recommend you to my circle.

Samira’s jaw tightened. Aryahi’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. Niyati stared, a storm of disbelief and fury etched across her face. As Samira scrolled further, the messages only grew filthier—filled with crude threats, explicit photos, and demands that made the room’s air feel heavy with disgust.

“They sent pictures of themselves,” Swathi said quietly, her voice cracking under the weight of shame and anger. “They called me names… names I can’t even repeat.”

She swallowed hard, forcing the next words out.

“The later ones… they told me to strip… to pose… in ways that made me feel sick.”

Her hands clenched in her lap, trembling. “They weren’t just messages. They were trying to break me… humiliate me.”

Her composure wavered. Her eyes blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill.

“When I walk down the street… even through college… men stare at me. Their eyes follow me… like I’m not a person anymore. Just… just a piece of flesh on display. And the whispers behind me…” She swallowed hard, choking on the words.

“…they burn louder than words.”

Her hands tightened in her lap, knuckles white with tension. “I… I feel like I can’t escape it anymore,” she whispered, her voice almost a wail.

Samira stepped closer, enveloping her in a gentle, protective embrace. “It’s okay, Swathi. Let it out,” she murmured softly, her presence steady, grounding.

And finally, Swathi let herself unravel. Tears she had been holding back for weeks, months even, streamed down her face freely. She cried into Samira’s arms, finding in that embrace the warmth of someone who listened her without judgment, who held her without disgust, who allowed her the fragile dignity of trust when those she had depended on had turned away. For the first time in a long, long while, she felt safe.

Her sobs grew louder, ragged and unrestrained, as if her wounded soul were finally releasing the weight of the scars she had carried in silence for so long.

“We will get through this,” Samira said firmly, holding her close, her voice unwavering even as Swathi trembled in her arms.

And for the first time in months, Swathi felt a sliver of hope.

Swathi flinched at the sudden trill of her phone vibrating against the glass tabletop, the sound slicing through the uneasy silence of the room.

Her fingers trembled before she could even reach for it.

“Shh… it’s alright,” Samira murmured gently, placing a reassuring hand over hers. She reached for the phone. The screen glowed with an unknown number.

“May I?” Samira asked softly.

Swathi hesitated. Her eyes darted from the phone to Samira’s composed face — the fear in them raw, trembling  and finally she nodded.

Samira answered the call, keeping it on speaker.

“Hello?” she said evenly.

A man’s voice came through the line—smooth, confident, and disturbingly casual.

“I want you for two days—this Saturday and Sunday. Are you available? Two of my friends might join as well. How much do you charge?”

Samira’s eyes hardened. The air in the room thickened.

The man continued, his tone laced with arrogance. “You didn’t mention anything on your profile except your number and a few photos. Is that your way of being mysterious to attract clients? Or are you just an amateur?”

Swathi froze. Her breath hitched, her face draining of color.

Before she could form a single word, Samira’s voice cut in—calm, firm, deliberate.

“No.”

There was a brief pause, before the man chuckled darkly.

“No? Are you playing hard to get? Let me tell you something, sweetheart — those games are outdated. These days, it’s all simple, direct, and straightforward. So stop pretending and just tell me your price.”

Samira straightened in her chair, her tone sharpening with every word.

“Fine. Let me be simple, direct, and straightforward, just like you said. It’s no. N… O.”

The air grew taut, heavy with restrained anger.

“Did you get that, dumbass?” Niyati snapped from behind her, unable to hold herself back.

The man laughed again — low, sleazy, dripping with mockery.

“Feisty, huh? I like that in a woman. Tell me, are you that wild in bed too? I can tame a brat like you real good — make you beg for more, make you—”

“Enough,” Samira cut in, her grip on the phone tightening. “Mind your words, Mr. Whoever-You-Are,” she said, her voice calm but loaded with quiet danger. “Don’t cross the line.”

He laughed — a coarse, arrogant sound that scraped against every nerve.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, bitch. I’m being patient with you. I’m not paying for your attitude — I’m paying for your obedience. For your body. For pleasure. Remember your place.”

Samira’s voice dropped to a cold, controlled whisper.

“You better stop right there.”

A low chuckle echoed on the other end.

“Oh, I’ve crossed plenty of lines, sweetheart,” he sneered. “You just haven’t met a man who knows how to draw them yet.”

He paused, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“I don’t chase women — they chase me. And you will too. Sooner or later.”

A cruel smirk was audible in his tone.

“So stop the drama and just name your price — the price of your pathetic worth.”

The venom in his voice coiled through the room like smoke, each word laced with filth and entitlement.

Swathi’s breath hitched; her trembling hands clutched at her dupatta as if holding on to some last shred of dignity. Tears filled her eyes.

Across the room, Niyati’s fists were clenched so tight her knuckles whitened.

Samira, however, remained still — her calmness almost terrifying in its control.

Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face, yet something in her silence made the air grow heavier. Even the man’s arrogance seemed to waver for a heartbeat, as if he’d realized too late that he’d gone too far.

Before she could respond, Aryahi stepped forward. Her movements were swift, resolute. Without hesitation, she reached over and took the phone from Samira’s hand — her eyes blazing like fire.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp, authoritative. “If you have even a shred of courage, say your real name. Right now.”

The man scoffed. “I’m a respectable man in this society. So speak with the damn respect I deserve.”

“Respect, my foot,” she snapped. I don’t usually believe respect has to be earned, but in your case, that’s exactly right — you should earn it, not demand it.”

She leaned forward slightly, her tone turning sharper.

“You want respect? Fine. Give me one good reason why I should. Because I’ve got plenty of reasons not to. Want me to start naming them?”

Silence crackled over the line.

Aryahi tilted her head, mocking.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue?” she taunted, her voice sharp with contempt. “You know you’re wrong, don’t you? You don’t even have the guts to say your name.”

Her grip on the phone tightened.

“You’re nothing but a classic, entitled jerk,  a filthy coward hiding behind a screen.”

Across the room, Niyati’s eyes gleamed as her fingers flew across the laptop keyboard. Within seconds, lines of data flickered to life on the screen. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips as she turned the laptop toward Aryahi — silent, but unmistakably triumphant.

Aryahi’s smirk deepened.

“No worries, Mr. Anonymous,” she said smoothly. “I’ll remind you who you are.”

She let the words hang for a heartbeat, then began — her tone calm, deliberate, lethal.

“Your name is Pratap Verma. Age, thirty-five. Senior Manager in the HR Department at Cognizant. Your wife, Tulasi Verma, also works there as a  team leader, if I’m not mistaken. You’ve got two kids — daughter in eighth grade, son in sixth, both studying at Delhi Public School. You live in Hitech City.”

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint static of the call.

Aryahi’s voice dropped to a low whisper — calm, steady, and chillingly precise.

“Would you like me to remind you of your flat number too, Mr. Verma?”

A sharp intake of breath echoed from the other end. Fear finally cracking through arrogance.

“Or maybe,” Aryahi continued, “I should send this little conversation to your wife. The call’s being recorded, after all. No, wait—better idea. I could post it on your company’s internal forum. Let everyone see what kind of ‘respectable man’ you are.”

“No! You wouldn’t dare—”

“Try me,” Aryahi cut in smoothly.

Then the man’s voice came through —  softer now, forced and trembling, the arrogance finally stripped away.

“Okay… what do you want? Money, right? How much?”

“Apologize,” Aryahi said, her voice calm and even. “And mean it.”

He hesitated. Then a grudging mutter.

“I’m sorry. Now delete it.”

“What are you sorry for?” she pressed.

A long silence stretched across the line, heavy and suffocating, as if the very air pressed down on him. Then, through clenched teeth, a low, trembling voice forced its way out, each word laced with fear and reluctant submission.

“For… everything. For not accepting her ‘no’ as an answer. I… I’m sorry. Truly… I am. I… I mean it.”

The quiver in his voice betrayed the composure he had tried so hard to maintain. For the first time, he sounded small, exposed, and entirely powerless under their unwavering presence.

Aryahi nodded once.

“Good. See? It’s not that hard to admit when you’re wrong.”

He exhaled shakily. “Now delete it.”

“I don’t have to,” Aryahi said with a faint smirk. “Because it wasn’t recorded.”

“You—” he began, his tone rising.

“Stop right there,” Samira cut in sharply, her tone firm and commanding. “Now you listen to me carefully, Mr. Verma. You will never call this number again. Do you hear me? Never. If you do—” she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a deadly calm, “—I won’t talk to you on the phone. I’ll come find you. Face to face. Right in front of your wife.”

There was the faint sound of a gulp, followed by a strained whisper.

“Fine. I won’t call back.”

“Good,” Samira said evenly. “You mentioned you saw Swathi’s profile on some website. What’s the name of it?”

“Connect with Anyone You Desire,” he replied weakly.

“Send me the app link and Swathi’s profile,” Samira ordered.

“I’ve sent it. Check your phone,” he said quickly.

Samira’s eyes flicked to her screen. A new message pinged. She opened it, tapped the link once, and murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Verma.” Then she ended the call.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The silence in the room was heavy, electric — the kind that follows a storm that’s barely passed.

Niyati broke it first, chuckling softly. She walked over and threw her arms around Aryahi from behind.

“I never knew you had that fire in you,” she said with a grin, planting a quick kiss on Aryahi’s cheek. “I’m loving this version of you.”

Aryahi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, reluctant smile.

Samira watched them, a small, proud smile curving her mouth. For a fleeting moment, the hardness in the room softened — strength bending into solidarity.

Swathi sat frozen, trembling, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She could hardly believe what had just happened — how these women had turned her helpless fear into power, how they had faced down the very thing that had haunted her for weeks.

Samira turned to her, her voice gentle but firm.

“We’ll take it from here,” she said. “You should go home and rest.”

Swathi hesitated, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with uncertainty.

“Can I… stay here? Just for tonight?”

Samira glanced at Niyati and Aryahi. They met her gaze, and in that brief, silent exchange, everything was understood. One slow nod from each — agreement, readiness, unspoken resolve — was all it took.

“Of course, Swathi,” Samira said softly. “You’re safe here. Stay as long as you need. Make yourself at home.”

Swathi’s eyes filled again, but this time the tears fell from a place of safety — not fear. She nodded, a faint smile trembling at the corners of her lips.

For the first time in months, she didn’t feel alone.

The garden shimmered in the late afternoon light — soft golden rays slipping through the canopy of neem and gulmohar trees. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the rustle of feathers and the faint cooing of pigeons gathered near the stone pathway.

Nivedita stormed down the steps, her sandals thudding against the ground as she stomped her way toward the garden. Each step echoed her frustration.

Surya, crouched by the fountain with a small brass bowl of grains, turned at the sharp rhythm of her footsteps. A few startled sparrows fluttered away.

“Slow down — you’re scaring off these poor birds,” he said, his tone laced with mild amusement.

Nivedita shot him a glare cold enough to silence the breeze.

“My bad,” he murmured, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

She sank onto the nearest bench with a huff, arms folded tightly across her chest. The birds circled back slowly, cautious, pecking at the grains scattered by Surya’s hand.

“What made you so angry this time?” he asked, still scattering grains, his movements calm and deliberate — the very picture of patience.

“You’ll know anyway — since you work here,” she muttered bitterly. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, she poured out everything that had happened with Swathi. The words tumbled out fast, jagged with emotion.

“When I asked her why she didn’t tell me, Samira ma’am asked me to leave the room. And guess what I was sent to do?” she gestured furiously toward the pigeons. “To help you with this. Feeding birds! Ridiculous.”

Her voice cracked slightly, anger laced with hurt. “I have every right to ask Swathi why she didn’t tell me. And I have every right to be angry!”

Surya didn’t interrupt. He let her words settle into the air before replying.

“Yes, you do, Nivedita,” he said softly. “But Samira didn’t send you out to insult you. She did it so things wouldn’t get worse.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” she scoffed. “It’s stupid of me to even ask you. Obviously, you’ll take her side. You’re her friend, after all.”

Surya chuckled softly, brushing stray grains off his palms. “Let me ask you something then. You never hid anything from Swathi, right? She knows everything about you?”

“Yes,” Nivedita said at once, lifting her chin in defiance.

“Are you sure?” His tone was quiet but probing, his eyes finding hers.

“Yes, damn—” she stopped mid-sentence, the words faltering on her tongue. A flicker of realization crossed her face, soft and sudden like light breaking through clouds after rain.

There were things she hadn’t told Swathi… truths she’d kept buried beneath layers of pride and fear, not out of deceit, but because she wasn’t ready to face them herself.

Surya caught her silence and gave a small, knowing smile.

“Everyone hides something,” he said gently, “even from the people they love most. It’s not always out of deceit. Sometimes it’s fear — fear of losing the bond, fear of being misunderstood. Or maybe,” he paused, watching a pigeon hop near his shoe, “they’re just waiting for the right time.”

His voice softened. “I understand your anger, Nivedita. But when we’re angry, we stop thinking clearly. We lash out, say things we don’t mean — and by the time we realize it…” he looked away, his jaw tightening slightly, “the damage is already done. You can’t take words back once they’re out.”

There was something in his tone — a quiet weight, a shadow of memory. It wasn’t just advice; it was experience speaking through him.

For the first time that day, Nivedita’s fury wavered. A faint, uncertain smile tugged at her lips — quick and fleeting. She tried to hide it before he could notice.

“You know what, Surya?” she said, trying to sound sarcastic but failing to hide the reluctant admiration in her voice. “As much as I hate to admit it… you’re sounding very damn convincing.”

Surya tilted his head, a teasing glint lighting his eyes. “So my charm worked on you too?”

“Don’t push it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said with a grin, leaning casually against the fountain. “I know I’m irresistible.”

“Yes, you are,” Nivedita replied dryly. “Irresistible… in pure annoyance.”

Surya laughed — a low, warm, unguarded sound that drifted through the garden, softening the tension that had lingered between them only moments before.

And though she would never admit it, Nivedita found herself smiling too