24-01-2026, 12:20 PM
The next afternoon, Tulika sat alone on the balcony with her phone in her lap. The sky was a flat grey, the air still heavy from last night’s drizzle. Vikram had left early for a “site visit” he claimed would bring in a small commission. She hadn’t asked for details. She hadn’t spoken much since their conversation the previous evening.
Her thumb hovered over Rashi’s name in the contacts.
Rashi—her college roommate from Osmania, the one who had married well and moved to Gurgaon. They hadn’t met in over a year, but they texted on birthdays and festivals. Rashi was the kind of friend who always answered, no matter how long the gap.
Tulika pressed call.
It rang twice.
“Tu! Oh my god, finally!” Rashi’s voice burst through, bright and unchanged. “I was thinking about you just yesterday. How are you? Still killing it with the exam prep?”
Tulika managed a small laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Trying. You know how it is.”
They talked for a few minutes—surface things: Rashi’s new flat with the infinity pool view, her husband’s promotion, the latest family drama back in Hyderabad. Then Tulika’s voice dropped.
“Rashi… I need to ask you something. It’s big.”
A pause. The background noise on Rashi’s end faded; she must have stepped into another room.
“Tell me.”
Tulika swallowed. “We’re in trouble. Financially. Really bad. Vikram’s deals aren’t closing, the EMIs are killing us, and… I’m thinking of taking a shortcut for the exam. Someone offered to help—for money. A lot of money.”
Silence stretched. Then Rashi spoke softly. “How much?”
“Eighteen and a half lakhs. We can scbang together maybe twelve or thirteen if we sell things, borrow from family. But the rest…”
Rashi didn’t hesitate. “I’ll send you three. Cash. Today itself.”
Tulika’s breath caught. “Rashi, no. That’s too much—”
“Tu, stop. It’s three lakhs. For me, it’s not even a month’s grocery bill. My husband won’t even notice. And you’re my sister from another mother. You’ve helped me through so many breakdowns in college. Let me do this.”
Tulika’s eyes filled. “I’ll pay you back. I swear. As soon as I get the job—”
“Whenever. No hurry. Now listen—my driver will come to your place in two hours. He’ll bring an envelope. Don’t tell anyone how you got it. Just use it.”
Tulika nodded even though Rashi couldn’t see. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just clear that damn exam and call me when you get selected. We’ll celebrate with champagne in Gurgaon.”
They hung up. Tulika sat there, staring at the potted tulsi until the leaves blurred.
Two hours later, a black Innova stopped outside the building. A uniformed driver got out, looked around, then walked up the stairs. He rang the bell, handed her a thick brown envelope without a word, and left.
Inside: Bundles of new currency notes, neatly rubber-banded. Tulika counted them twice, hands shaking. Real. Heavy in her palm.
She hid the envelope in the bottom drawer of her study table, under old notebooks.
That night, everything shattered.
They were eating dinner—simple khichdim- when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent knocks.
Vikram frowned. “Who at this hour?”
He opened the door. Three men stood there—broad-shouldered, faces hard under the corridor light. The leader, a man with a thick neck and a gold chain, stepped inside without invitation.
“Kapoor? You owe us five lakhs. Time’s up.”
Vikram’s face drained of colour. “I told you next week—”
“Next week was last week.” The man’s eyes flicked to Tulika, who had frozen at the table. “You think we run a charity?”
They pushed past Vikram. One grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall. The other two started ransacking—drawers yanked open, cushions thrown, the TV stand kicked aside.
Tulika stood. “Please. We’ll pay. Just give us time—”
The leader turned to her, eyes cold. “Time is over, memsaab.”
He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. The blade flicked open with a soft click. He stepped closer to Tulika, the knife hovering near her throat.
“Strip,” he said.
Vikram struggled against the man holding him. “Don’t touch her!”
The leader ignored him. “I said strip. Or we take it off for you.”
Tulika’s hands shook as she reached for the pallu of her saree. Tears streamed down her face, but she moved mechanically—pallu falling, blouse hooks undone, saree pooling at her feet. She stood in her bra and petticoat, arms crossed over her chest, shivering.
The men looked. One whistled low. The leader stepped closer, blade tracing the air an inch from her skin—down her collarbone, along the edge of her bra, stopping just above her navel.
He smirked. “Pretty. But we’re not here for fun.”
He stepped back. “Five lakhs. Now.”
Vikram, pinned, gasped. “The drawer—study room—bottom one.”
One of the men went, came back with the envelope Rashi had sent. He opened it, counted quickly, nodded.
“Five exactly.” The leader pocketed the cash. “Next time you borrow, remember—we don’t give extensions.”
He gestured. They released Vikram, who slid to the floor, coughing.
The men left without another word. The door clicked shut behind them.
Tulika stood frozen in her underclothes, arms wrapped around herself. Vikram crawled to her, pulling her down, wrapping his arms around her trembling body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t cry. She just stared at the wall, the envelope gone, the three + two lakhs vanished into the night along with any illusion of control they had left.
Her thumb hovered over Rashi’s name in the contacts.
Rashi—her college roommate from Osmania, the one who had married well and moved to Gurgaon. They hadn’t met in over a year, but they texted on birthdays and festivals. Rashi was the kind of friend who always answered, no matter how long the gap.
Tulika pressed call.
It rang twice.
“Tu! Oh my god, finally!” Rashi’s voice burst through, bright and unchanged. “I was thinking about you just yesterday. How are you? Still killing it with the exam prep?”
Tulika managed a small laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Trying. You know how it is.”
They talked for a few minutes—surface things: Rashi’s new flat with the infinity pool view, her husband’s promotion, the latest family drama back in Hyderabad. Then Tulika’s voice dropped.
“Rashi… I need to ask you something. It’s big.”
A pause. The background noise on Rashi’s end faded; she must have stepped into another room.
“Tell me.”
Tulika swallowed. “We’re in trouble. Financially. Really bad. Vikram’s deals aren’t closing, the EMIs are killing us, and… I’m thinking of taking a shortcut for the exam. Someone offered to help—for money. A lot of money.”
Silence stretched. Then Rashi spoke softly. “How much?”
“Eighteen and a half lakhs. We can scbang together maybe twelve or thirteen if we sell things, borrow from family. But the rest…”
Rashi didn’t hesitate. “I’ll send you three. Cash. Today itself.”
Tulika’s breath caught. “Rashi, no. That’s too much—”
“Tu, stop. It’s three lakhs. For me, it’s not even a month’s grocery bill. My husband won’t even notice. And you’re my sister from another mother. You’ve helped me through so many breakdowns in college. Let me do this.”
Tulika’s eyes filled. “I’ll pay you back. I swear. As soon as I get the job—”
“Whenever. No hurry. Now listen—my driver will come to your place in two hours. He’ll bring an envelope. Don’t tell anyone how you got it. Just use it.”
Tulika nodded even though Rashi couldn’t see. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just clear that damn exam and call me when you get selected. We’ll celebrate with champagne in Gurgaon.”
They hung up. Tulika sat there, staring at the potted tulsi until the leaves blurred.
Two hours later, a black Innova stopped outside the building. A uniformed driver got out, looked around, then walked up the stairs. He rang the bell, handed her a thick brown envelope without a word, and left.
Inside: Bundles of new currency notes, neatly rubber-banded. Tulika counted them twice, hands shaking. Real. Heavy in her palm.
She hid the envelope in the bottom drawer of her study table, under old notebooks.
That night, everything shattered.
They were eating dinner—simple khichdim- when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent knocks.
Vikram frowned. “Who at this hour?”
He opened the door. Three men stood there—broad-shouldered, faces hard under the corridor light. The leader, a man with a thick neck and a gold chain, stepped inside without invitation.
“Kapoor? You owe us five lakhs. Time’s up.”
Vikram’s face drained of colour. “I told you next week—”
“Next week was last week.” The man’s eyes flicked to Tulika, who had frozen at the table. “You think we run a charity?”
They pushed past Vikram. One grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall. The other two started ransacking—drawers yanked open, cushions thrown, the TV stand kicked aside.
Tulika stood. “Please. We’ll pay. Just give us time—”
The leader turned to her, eyes cold. “Time is over, memsaab.”
He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. The blade flicked open with a soft click. He stepped closer to Tulika, the knife hovering near her throat.
“Strip,” he said.
Vikram struggled against the man holding him. “Don’t touch her!”
The leader ignored him. “I said strip. Or we take it off for you.”
Tulika’s hands shook as she reached for the pallu of her saree. Tears streamed down her face, but she moved mechanically—pallu falling, blouse hooks undone, saree pooling at her feet. She stood in her bra and petticoat, arms crossed over her chest, shivering.
The men looked. One whistled low. The leader stepped closer, blade tracing the air an inch from her skin—down her collarbone, along the edge of her bra, stopping just above her navel.
He smirked. “Pretty. But we’re not here for fun.”
He stepped back. “Five lakhs. Now.”
Vikram, pinned, gasped. “The drawer—study room—bottom one.”
One of the men went, came back with the envelope Rashi had sent. He opened it, counted quickly, nodded.
“Five exactly.” The leader pocketed the cash. “Next time you borrow, remember—we don’t give extensions.”
He gestured. They released Vikram, who slid to the floor, coughing.
The men left without another word. The door clicked shut behind them.
Tulika stood frozen in her underclothes, arms wrapped around herself. Vikram crawled to her, pulling her down, wrapping his arms around her trembling body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t cry. She just stared at the wall, the envelope gone, the three + two lakhs vanished into the night along with any illusion of control they had left.
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