I am his special girl. There is something different about his touch, his smile, the way he looks at me. I stay awake for a long while that night. 

my eyelids
heavy upon me
his breath

That same sickly sweet smell; that fuzzy feeling in the head on waking up; that uneasy feeling in my body. Looking out of the window, I see the handkerchief hanging precariously. I grab the proof and run to mama. She doesn’t want to know.

–Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy