Page 8 of Not Safe for Work
‘There were a few.’ I shrugged.
He tilted his head, his long lashes casting faint shadows against his cheekbones as he studied me. ‘No favourites?’
‘Um, not really. I liked to switch it up,’ I said, pressing my lips into a thin smile.
He hummed. A thoughtful, slow sound that made my skin prickle. Inside, my brain was screaming at me. Why hadn’t I done any research about the university? It wasn’t like I hadn’t had the time. Three years was plenty to memorize a few key details, to map out the campus, to prepare for a moment exactly like this. But that was the thing about lies—when you told them enough times, they stopped feeling untrue. I had repeated this one so often, let it settle so comfortably into my identity, that I had stopped thinking of it as something that needed maintenance. It was just a fact now. A fact I had created. And because no one had ever really questioned it before, I’d assumed no one ever would.
The only time I ever had to worry about keeping my story straight was during my interview with Rajat. I had told him casually, like it was no big deal, that I had studied at NYU. Andwhen I saw his face light up, I knew I’d cracked the code to impress him.
‘How come it’s not on your CV?’ he had asked, squinting at the printout in front of him.
‘Oh, it isn’t? I must have printed out the older version. Sorry about that,’ I had said, lying with a confidence I didn’t know I possessed. And he hadn’t pushed. He simply moved on to asking me a few generic questions about what I’d studied and how my experience had been. I had answered easily, throwing in safe details—big campus, great professors, rigorous coursework. Nothing too specific, nothing he could catch me on.
Later, after I had received the offer, I went back and quietly edited my LinkedIn profile to update my education. I’d even photoshopped my name onto a diploma, but the HR here never bothered to ask me for it. The lie had settled so smoothly into my life that I had forgotten that I was not equipped to defend it. Until now.
‘Kenzo’s gonna be so bummed you don’t remember him.’
My pulse jumped.
I turned to him again, keeping my expression neutral. ‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. I texted him just now,’ he said, holding up his iPhone. ‘It’s probably too early in the morning for him, but knowing Kenzo, he’ll have a lot to say when he sees my text. He was always up in everyone’s business … I’m sure he’ll remember lots about you.’
My fingers curled under the desk. This was it. The thread was unravelling. And Neil refused to stop pulling.
Just then, my phone began buzzing inside my handbag, saving me from further interrogation. I lunged for it, running out without even glancing at the screen to check who was calling.
‘Hello,’ I spoke into the phone when I reached the elevator lobby.
My mom’s voice was stricken with anxiety. ‘Kavu, where are you beta?’
I exhaled sharply, pressing the phone to my ear like it was a life raft. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you for calling. You are the best.’ My voice came out shakier than I intended, my breath still uneven from the conversation I’d just escaped.
‘Huh? Beta, where have you been? You didn’t call me in the morning and haven’t responded to any of my texts either. I was worried sick!’
I leaned against the wall next to the elevator, squeezing my eyes shut for a second, willing my heart to stop racing. ‘I’m fine, Ma. I was just—’
What? Trapped in a situation that threatened to undo my entire professional career?‘I got caught up with something.’
‘Caught up?’ she repeated, agitated. ‘So much that you couldn’t even send one message? Not even to let me know you’re alive?’
There was no point in telling her she was being dramatic. My mother had a talent for anticipating disaster. It made her exhausting on ordinary days and invaluable on extraordinary ones. Like when the first Covid wave hit and everyone else was busy forwarding WhatsApp rumours, she spent all her free time making lists of local doctors, oxygen suppliers and emergency contacts. By the time the second wave rolled in, she had become a community hero.
But she didn’t know how to prepare for me moving to Mumbai. The unknowns had multiplied and she couldn’t be there to manage them. Which meant that if I missed even one of our scheduled check-ins, plus the occasional midday update, her mind immediately spiralled to the worst-case scenario.
‘Sorry, mom. I know I should have texted,’ I said, trying to sound sincere.
‘You say this every time,’ she huffed. ‘And every time I tell you, it takes two seconds to send a message. Two seconds, Kavu! If I don’t hear from you, what am I supposed to think?’
Apparently, that I’d been kidnapped, fallen into a ditch or abducted by aliens. If only my life were that interesting. ‘Okay, okay, calm down. I’m sorry and I’m fine. Completely unharmed. Just having a busy day at the office,’ I said.
She let out a gust of air and I could picture her sitting down on the chair next to the landline. I didn’t know anyone else who still had a corded home telephone, but my parents refused to get rid of ours.It’s cheaper, they always said, even though they basically had to pay extra to maintain the landline along with their mobile packages.
‘Okay, fine. But don’t do this again. You know my BP goes up every time you go missing,’ she complained, but the sharp edge of her panic-laced voice was starting to smooth out.
Blood pressure. That’s how she always categorized her anxiety, because it felt more medical than emotional. I promised her I’d text her regularly, even if I was in the middle of something.
‘Good,’ she said and paused. When she spoke again, her voice had softened, ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You sound … off.’
