Chapter Text
The little girl’s face was ruined, because it was burned.
The little girl’s face was ruined, because it was angry.
The kind little perfect eyes met Satya’s, and they were angry, at her. Their symmetry was ruined. One eye was nearly swollen shut. And, she was angry.
Her family and others were angry too, surrounding her. Just like when she was leaving the building before, Satya didn’t understand why. The inside of their heads were the only vaults she could never coax or blast open. The feelings of others, a language that would always require a translator. They were angry because they didn’t see that what her company was doing was best, she had thought before. Sanjay had translated. Had always translated, for years and years, and she had plenty of reason to trust him.
But now, they had done it, and they were still angry. The crowd was a loud roaring wall that built and built against Satya’s ears until she couldn’t make sense of it or anything else, and they were still angry.
She wanted to go back to her quiet light empty lab, and make something beautiful and useful and symmetrical and leave thinking about the crowd and its noise to Sanjay. But, despite the pain and the impulse to leave, she also didn’t.
Because, the little girl’s face.
In the back of her head and in front of her eyes, there was a ticking light of a headache.
Ruined.
They. Had ruined her.
Hadn’t they?
She trusted Sanjay, and he said they were right. He could see in people’s heads like they were all made of glass, and he translated for her, and she trusted him. For him, light was soft. Liquid. He said they were angry because they didn’t understand us. Our vision.
Him. His vision.
There weren’t going to be houses. Unless they earn it.
What had Satya ever done to deserve hers, in the beginning when she got their help?
It wasn’t even on both sides. Not a symmetrical argument. But she trusted Sanjay.
But the little girl’s face.
And the little girl’s eyes.
Behind her eyes and in the front of her mind and Vishkar Corp and behind the shining image of Sanjay, a ticking began to grow, that would get louder and louder and drown out the perfection and the company and the vision and. Even the shining image, one day.
Because of the little girl’s face, meant.
That our vision wasn’t.
Ours, but his.
Because the little girl’s face meant that it wasn’t.
Perfect.
The crowd was so loud, and she trusted Vishkar, and Sanjay.
But there was a ticking, growing, in her heart and in her head and in the palms of her hands, and was really saying one word, over and over.
Ruined.