The Knife

“Hey, sit… sit here. Yes, here only.”

The voice floated towards her like a bad smell. The tall, skinny man was waving at her, patting the empty seat beside him with theatrical insistence.

“These men…” she murmured under her breath and turned her face away.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Why don’t you sit? There’s a seat empty.”

She shot him a sharp, jagged glare, precise enough to cut off the sentence mid-air. He paused. Good. That should have been the end of it.

She was already seated comfortably. And this man… this stranger had the audacity to summon her like that.

Barely five minutes passed.

“Girl… why are you feeling so shy to sit beside me?” he continued, grinning. “Am I a monster who will eat you if you sit with me?”

Her jaw tightened.

How dare he speak like that?

Her mind raced.

Ignore him?

Call him out loudly?

Slap him? No… that would look hysterical.

Scold him? Or wait?

She decided to wait. One more move from him and that would be it… the final nail. She wasn’t alone. The bus was full… decent-looking men, women, students. People who would stand up for her. Surely.

A cautious confidence slid down her spine.

Let’s see what you do next.

“Chandmari… Chandmari…” the conductor’s call snapped her back.

Already Chandmari? Traffic in Guwahati was merciless these days. At least forty-five minutes more to reach Basistha.

It was 7:15 p.m. She was late today. Work had been brutal. But if she got promoted next year… how happy her father would be!

Since her mother’s death, he had become her entire universe. She had told Chinku… calmly, clearly… that her father came first now. Chinku hadn’t replied since. She didn’t feel guilty. Or lonely.

Dad is my priority, she reminded herself.

“Girl… please look at me once.”

Her heart lurched.

Not again.

The same man leaned closer and deliberately pushed her right arm.

“Get lost!” she shouted, standing up. “Who are you to touch me indecently?”

The bus froze.

Every head turned.

A young man, maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven, jumped up instantly. “What happened, sister?”

She pointed. Her finger trembled, but it was steady enough.

“There. That man. He’s been harassing me. And beware… he carries a knife.”

Two more men joined in. One of them flexed unconsciously, his chest out, muscles popping.

“Where is he?”

“Show us.”

She stared in disbelief.

The man… still seated… was smiling. Calm. Almost amused. An insulting, knowing smile.

Why aren’t they seeing him?

Why is no one moving?

Phones were out now. At least five. Recording.

She hesitated. If she struck him first, the video would turn against her.

“Girl… just sit once with me.”

He said it again.

Louder murmurs. The bus slowed and then stopped.

“Sister, any problem?” the driver asked, stepping down. “Shall we call the police?”

She didn’t answer. She only pointed.

Silence spread.

People exchanged looks.

A whisper reached her ears.

“Is she… insane?”

Her breath caught.

Twenty-five people. A packed bus.

Can none of them see him? Have they all gone blind?

A man in his fifties leaned towards the driver and murmured something.

“Sister,” the driver asked gently, “where will you get down?”

“That’s none of your business!” she cried, her voice breaking. “First fix that man!”

She looked again.

The seat was empty.

The smile gone.

The man gone.

One by one, the men who had come forward returned to their seats. Embarrassed. Awkward. Done.

“Sister, I can give you the police contact number,” the driver said, scribbling on a piece of paper and handing it to her. “You may call them.”

The bus started moving again.

That was when she broke.

She covered her face and sobbed, quietly at first, then uncontrollably.

Through blurred eyes, she looked once more at the seat.

Empty.

Two years ago, another bus. Another evening. Another tall man.

He had smiled the same way. Asked her to sit. Then touched her. Molested her.

She hadn’t screamed then.

He had pressed a knife against her ribs and whispered, “If you shout, I’ll finish you.”

The knife had never left her mind.

Not once.

She slowly lowered her hands.

The bus lights flickered.

For a split second… no more than that… she saw something on the empty seat beside her.

A faint metallic glint.

Then it vanished.

She closed her eyes.

Some knives don’t cut flesh.

They cut memory.

And they travel with you… quietly, patiently, until one day, they decide to sit beside you again.