My vision turns red the moment I lay eyes on the white powder smeared over her lips. I can't unsee it even after she wipes it off. It's going to be seared into my memory for a long time as a constant reminder of my mistake. The only thought I had when I brought Mira to Mysore was to help her. But I realise it's all in vain if she doesn't want my help. You know that age-old saying, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the carpeted floor as if it is the most interesting thing in the world.

I let out a sigh. “Give it to me.”

Her head snaps up, her expression shifting to defiance. “I don't have anything.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods.

I stride into her room and look around. She follows behind me and positions herself in front of her wardrobe as I reach for the handle.

“No,” she says, her tone firm.

But it doesn't stop me. Leaning in, I bring my face close to hers so that I can look into her eyes. She needs to realise how serious I am about it.

“Hand it to me or let me search,” I demand, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.

I watch her throat move as she swallows. If she denies it again, I don't know how I'll handle it. As a teacher, I pride myself on my patience. But right now, the anger pulsing through me is blinding. It won't subside until I right the wrong.

She walks past me and heads to her bed, lifting the pillow. My gaze zero in on her hand as she reaches into the pillow cover and retrieves a medicine strip with her credit card and a 20 rupee note. Though I can't recognise the specific usage of the tablets, I can tell they are painkillers.

“Throw it away, and delete the phone number of whoever you meet every day,” I say, waiting for her reaction.

Her fingers shake, but she doesn't let her grasp falter. “How did you know?”

“I received a call from the facility earlier.”

“So you have been pretending?”

“I was giving you another chance, but you chose the wrong route.”

“You were stalking me, Rihan!” She flings the medicine at my feet. “Why would you do that?” The disbelief in her tone fuels my anger. She is making it sound like I have bad intentions.

“I didn't have a choice, dammit!” I snap, my voice echoing in the silence that follows. I take a deep breath to regain my composure and grab her arms. “I'm sorry, okay?”

She slumps on the bed, not meeting my eyes. Just when I think the conversation has reached a dead end, she takes out her phone and deletes a contact. “I'm sorry too. I won't lie again.”

Relief floods through me. “Freshen up. I'll take you to the facility.”

“I won't go.”

Not again. I am going to lose all my hair at this rate. “Can you not be stubborn for once?”

“It won't work, Rihan. You should know better than anyone how tough it is.”

“Exactly. I know where there's a will, there's a way. It's not easy to give up when it seems to be the only best thing. And sometimes, realization is not enough. Efforts matter.” I pick up the strip from the floor and extend it to her. “Look at it and say fuck this shit. Only then can you start anew.”

Her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. If it were any other situation, I'd find it comical.

“Do it, Mira,” I urge her in a gentle tone.

Finally, she takes the strip from my grasp. “Fuck this shit.”

“Louder, Mira. Convince yourself.”

“Fuck this shit!” she yells, chucking it into the dustbin.

“Good. Now get ready. We will leave in 20 minutes.”

As I leave her room, closing the door behind me, I can't shake off the suffocating feeling that lingers. It's like a bag of stones pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. A sense of déjà vu washes over me, but this time, I am experiencing it from the perspective of a helpless bystander. Is this how my family felt when they watched me struggle and give in? I endured my battles for a year, but Mira has been suffering for six long years. No wonder she has reached a point of surrender. She truly believes there's no way out.

I wish we had met sooner. I don't mean I'm her saviour—only she can win the battle against herself—but having someone who understands you can make all the difference. While my parents didn't fully understand my struggles, they listened. They allowed me to interact with a few of my friends who were going through the same. It became a sort of game for us. The one who stayed clean would be the winner, and that competitiveness helped us distance ourselves from drugs. Looking back, it may seem silly, but we were young and stupid, grasping for anything that could pull us out of that darkness.

Mira emerges, clad in a thin pink sweater and blue jeans. She seems to always prefer long sleeves. It's suitable for Mysore's weather but I wonder how she coped with the heat in Mumbai.

“Let's go.”

I notice her wet hair and frown. “Come here,” I say, leading her to my room.

After plugging in the hair dryer, I carefully blow-dry and comb her hair. It begins to look like beach waves by the time I'm done, and I can't help but admire the way the strands glide through my fingers like silk over sand.

Catching her gaze in the mirror, I stop, slowly losing myself in the way she looks. It's like I'm reliving our first meeting all over again. We were strangers then, barely speaking but feeling everything. She bewitched me with her presence, trapped me in her silence. The depth in her eyes draws me in, as it always has, and I find myself falling, again.

With a jolt, I tear my gaze away and unplug the dryer, shoving it into the drawer.

She remains seated, silent, her expression unreadable.

I clear my throat. “I'm going to start the car.”

She nods and heads out. I follow her, pausing briefly to lock the front door.

Once inside the car, I start the engine, the low hum of the radio filling the space between us.

“We are here,” I say, breaking the silence as I pull up in front of the gate.

She makes no move to get out.

“Time to take the first step, Mira,” I remind her.

“What if I fall?”

“I'll catch you.”

She looks at me, holding out her pinky finger. It's then I realise she is afraid of hoping. “Promise?”

I smile and hook my finger around hers. “Promise.”

Instead of letting go, she grabs my hand, weaving her fingers through mine. I don't want to read into the gesture as anything other than her seeking comfort in someone's presence. But, damn it, I am melting.

“I'll pick you up later.”

She nods and opens the door. I feel unsettled as she steps out and enters the gate.

“Mira, wait,” I call after her. She turns around just as I hurry to close the distance between us. “Call me if you feel like leaving, but please don't run off.”

“I won't leave,” she reassures me.

I nod and watch her disappear into the building.