The blue light from the phone screen cast strange shadows across Bhavani's face as she lay on the thin mattress, listening to her husband's heavy breathing beside her. Cheruvayal Krishnan had come home reeking of arrack again, his clothes stained with rubber latex and sweat. He'd eaten his rice and curry in silence, grunted something about the falling rubber prices, and collapsed onto their shared bed without so much as looking at her.
Bhavani pulled the thin cotton sheet higher over her shoulders and tilted the phone screen away from Krishnan's sleeping form. The Nokia smartphone—a castoff from her cousin Meenu who'd upgraded to something fancier in college—felt heavy in her small hands. She'd only learned to use it properly three months ago, and already it felt like a window to another world.



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