Talk Me Off the Ledge, Please

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Talk Me Off the Ledge, Please

Illustration: Namaah/ Arré

S

he didn’t want to jump but here she was, perched precariously on the window ledge, one hand gripping the rail, the other holding on to her phone. The house was empty, just like the day her uncle had forced himself on her.

“You are the first person I am telling,” she whispered into the phone. On the other end of the line, Manohar was listening. All he said was, “Yes, I am here,” and she sobbed her entire story to him. As she recounted the heartbreak and self-loathing that gripped her, she told him how she’d realised a horrible truth. All the playground shenanigans, the bedtime stories, were never innocent. Her uncle had been molesting her for years. She sobbed uncontrollably as she reeled under waves of shame and horror.

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