Divya

I watched you shrink in front of it in that hot little café while the man at the counter pretended not to see you cry. You thought your whole life had just been decided by a website that kept crashing. It hadn't. Ten years later you are a woman who fixes things, who rings our mother every evening, who laughs too loudly at weddings. None of that was on the marksheet. If you have a daughter one day, and she stands in front of a screen like that, tell her what I am telling you now: breathe. The screen is small. You are not.