Chapter 4: Gold Chains and WhatsApp Forwards

I tidy my clothes and head to the main road to set up my meat stall. The subtitles keep rolling, as if someone is sending me WhatsApp forwards:

[So angry! The supporting character dares treat the male lead like this. When will our dear heroine finally appear?]

[Sisters, don’t worry, the supporting character is only smug for now. Our dear heroine has already found her, soon she’ll interrogate the supporting character, and as soon as there’s a reward, she’ll sell out the male lead.]

[The supporting character is stupid and wicked, then her home gets raided~ After finding the imprisoned MLA’s son, she even makes a scene in public, clings to the MLA’s son and won’t let go, makes a huge fuss, insists the MLA’s son is her husband.]

[The butcher girl wants to be MLA’s wife? What a joke. The heroine is the male lead’s fiancée. The supporting character goes crazy and tries to attack the heroine, but luckily the male lead protects our girl, orders the supporting character beaten fifty times on the spot, breaks her legs—so pampered~]

[She’s even collared, made to crawl and bark like a dog, everyone in the area sees it. Who told her to imprison the male lead as a dog? So satisfying!]

I wipe my forehead with my dupatta, shooting a glance at the other stall owners as Ananya’s car pulls up. They quickly look away, pretending to mind their own business.

The car window rolls down, revealing a fair, delicate face—every feature noble and proud. She scans me up and down with almond-shaped eyes.

"So, you’re the famous butcher girl everyone’s talking about?"

Her Hindi is crisp, words tinged with that English-medium accent. Her gold bangles flash; her nails are polished, like she’s never chopped onions in her life.

As soon as she appears, the subtitles flash excitedly:

[Wow, the heroine finally appears! Supporting character, back off!]

[Oh my, our dear girl is so beautiful, I’m swooning!]

[Here it comes! Soon the heroine will find the male lead and the sweet, loving plot will start!]

I roll my eyes, imagining the WhatsApp aunties squealing over this. I know from the subtitles—she’s Ananya, eldest daughter of the State Minister.

Her little maid pipes up, "Aye! Our madam is talking to you!" Chin tilted, voice full of that familiar colony arrogance. My temper flares, but I keep my smile fixed.

"Thak!" I chop my knife onto the table, curling my lips. "Madam here to sell meat?"

Ananya shudders, covers her mouth with her dupatta, frowning. "No, I’m here to ask you something. If you answer honestly, I’ll reward you with this."

She dangles a gold chain, holding it out. "I heard you bought a man at the market recently. Is that true?"

The subtitles get lively again:

[The supporting character is so dumb! This is the token the male lead gave the heroine. How could it end up with her? So greedy for money—she’ll believe anything! What a joke!]

[Exactly! As soon as the supporting character brings it home, the male lead notices. Only our clever heroine can do this~]

[Later she refuses to return it, insists it was given to her, ends up with her hand broken and has to return it—lost more than she gained. Serves her right!]

I hold the chain, rubbing it between my fingers. The gold is heavy and warm, the design intricate. For a moment, I remember Amma’s wedding jewelry—how she’d say gold was for a daughter’s dowry, never to be worn for show. I imagine myself wearing it, the mohalla women whispering behind their hands. My heart aches with longing and pride.

Ananya sneers, her tone dripping with contempt. "A coarse butcher girl like you has probably never seen gold this fine, hai na?"

I set the chain down, sighing. "You’re right, madam. I did buy a man at the market."

"But he didn’t survive three days. Died."

Ananya’s eyes widen, voice sharp. "What did you say?"

I return the chain, my tone regretful. "He was badly injured when I bought him. Wasted two thousand rupees. Died and brought bad luck, so I had to throw him in the mass grave behind the temple."

"You can go look there, madam. If you find that broker, tell him to return my money."

Ananya’s face turns ugly, but she can’t say a word—she leaves in defeat.

As her car disappears, I wonder if my own story is already written—or if I can still change the ending.

The shopkeepers peek over their counters, eyes wide. Someone mutters about politicians’ daughters and bad luck. I shake my head, counting my change, hands trembling.

The subtitles explode:

[What is she saying? How can she lie like that? She doesn’t even want the gold chain! How will the heroine find the male lead now?]

[So vicious! The supporting character even lies to the heroine that the male lead is dead. Our dear girl will be so heartbroken, sob sob sob.]

[Don’t worry, don’t worry, the male lead dotes on our heroine. He won’t let her be sad. The worse the supporting character is now, the harsher her retribution will be!]

I tidy up my stall, finding it all ridiculous. Why is it that their so-called heroine can use a gold chain and the name of love to trick me, but I can’t lie to save my own life?

A child tugs at my kurta for a scrap of bone for his dog. I ruffle his hair, lost in thought, the city’s heat and the weight of invisible eyes burning on my neck.