What if I'd killed her? Aruna wondered.

The narrow pedestrian belt was littered with beggars strewn around the corners, much like the garbage, but no one had seemed to pay any heed to their incessant whimpers of, 'amma paise- amma'. Aruna had tried to follow the example of the others— she really had. But act as might, the whimpers made her cringe every time they rang out, seemingly in rhythm with the sound of footwear hitting concrete.

The little girl in the faded yellow dress and baked brown skin had been her breaking point.

She'd stopped almost unconsciously, leaned against the pole and had undone the straps holding her schoolbag together. She noticed the girl look up at her with something akin to gratitude through the corner of her eye and had fumbled through the zips with even more vigor.

But what she'd forgotten was how she had spent her last note on the cute-little tetra pack that barely held together a few milliliters of juice. And when it finally dawned on her, it was too late. Her hands stilled immediately and she'd lift her head slowly to take a look at the girl who was looking right back at her through wide eyes and lips pulled into a semblance of a smile.

Aruna bit her lip and shook her head slightly, feeling a lump work up it's way to her throat as she saw the upturned corners of the little girls lips go back to their perpetual position.

It was fine, she had told herself. The little girl would be fine. Someone would definitely give her some money.

The next day, Aruna had packed an extra ten with her lunch money and had (practically) run down the road to get  to the crossing across the red light. She would make everything right again.

But the little girl wasn't there anymore. All that was left of her was white plastic bag and an empty steel glass. The girl had left and never come back.

It isn't my fault, Aruna told herself over and over again as she took three backward steps to get away from the bag. Not my fault.

What if I'd killed her?

I'd killed her.