On Day 2 of my period, I cancel a Zoom call, reheat the same cup of coffee for the third time, and stare at the ceiling fan like it owes me rent. Meanwhile, my maid walks in, sweeping and cooking like it’s any other day. I don’t even know when she gets her period—she never lets on. I lie there, curled up with a hot water bag, and think: how is she this steady while I’m a puddle of hormones and heat packs? Women in offices don’t miss a beat either. Sharp kurtas, back-to-back meetings, probably managing cramps beneath the table while giving …
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