Mugilan's POV

As I made my way back to my apartment after my morning jog, my mind wandered to my brief encounter with Shakthi in the elevator. Despite her struggles, she had this quiet strength about her that I found incredibly inspiring. The things she went through are horrifying to even think about, and yet here she is, trying hard to get over her past to start a new life. And I'm damn sure about being a part of her journey.

When I reached my door, I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar sense of calm that always settled over me when I returned home. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, only to be greeted by an unexpected sight.

Harish and Meghana were sitting on my couch, locked in an intimate moment. Harish was leaning in, his lips inches away from Meghana's, and her eyes were closed, anticipation written all over her face. The scene was so disgusting it almost made me vomit.

"Guys, not here," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "This is my apartment, I would appreciate it if both of you get lost somewhere to continue whatsoever but not here "

Harish shot me a glare that could have melted steel, clearly annoyed that I had interrupted his big moment. Meghana, on the other hand, quickly pushed Harish away and sat up, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Mugilan, man, come on!" Harish groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I was just about to seal the deal!"

"Yeah, yeah," I said nonchalantly, waving a hand dismissively as I headed toward the kitchen. "You can seal your deal somewhere else. This is my space, and I don't want to walk into a romantic drama every time I walk in."

" And Harish, don't you have any job to do ? planning to push your company into bankruptcy ?"

Ever since Meghana moved in, Harish had practically taken up residence too. He'd brought more clothes and personal items, even after he found his house key which was actually under the plant pot on my balcony.

" Don't you worry about my company. And right now my only priority is my Meghu " he looks at her with literally love sick puppy eyes.

Ewww.

He is getting on my last nerve.

" I need caffeine to erase the image of you two making out "

Harish grumbled something under his breath, but I ignored him, focusing instead on making myself a cup of black coffee.

I could hear Meghana awkwardly trying to smooth things over, her voice a mix of nervousness when she said, "It's nothing like you think, it's just...he...he was trying to clean the dust from my eyes." I could see the desperation of washing the embarrassment away in her voice.

"Baby, come on, you don't have to lie about our business to him," said Harish in his defending tone, while he tried to cup her cheeks, but she was quick to shove his hands away.

Harish had been trying his best to convince Meghana. In fact, once he knew that Meghana was going to stay here till her divorce procedures were done , he wasted no time dragging his fully packed suitcase here the next day, claiming he was also going to stay here, which is the worst thing I could have ever come across in my life. Every day, I wake up to new shit to deal with these two. I know shifting here is one of Harish's tactics to convince Meghana, but surely this husband and wife duo is not doing anything good for my mental health.

I couldn't hold back the comment, "Yeah, of course, he is your husband after all."

And just then, as if something snapped in Meghana, she quickly replied, "Till the time we get divorced."

Harish let out a dramatic cry, "What the hell? Just a few minutes ago you said you were going to think about it, baby!"

Meghana snapped at him, "No way, I didn't."

"Yes, you did, before I was about to kiss you until your depressed-as-hell brother who can't stand any human having a romantic moment, walked in to spoil our make- up moment," Harish said, clearly exasperated.

That made me throw the water bottle towards him as I spoke, "It's because of you two that I'm considering to seek therapy for myself"

I may not have considered that idea yet but the fact that both of them put such an idea in my mind is enough to chase them out.

Harish dramatically ducked and caught the bottle, giving me an annoyed look. "Oh, come on! We're not that bad. Just a little...Passionate lovers."

I took a sip of my coffee, savouring the bitterness. Then, a thought occurred to me. "By the way, Meghana, don't you have an appointment with your doctor today? For your fifth-month pregnancy check-up?"

I saw this as an opportunity to get them out of the apartment. Shakthi was supposed to come by later, and the last thing I needed was these two creating a scene as if they'd never seen a woman before.

Well, technically they didn't see one in my apartment though.

So it would be really a big deal for them hence getting them out of my apartment for a while is the safe way out of this.

"Oh Shoot "Meghana's eyes widened in realisation. "You're right. I completely forgot." She started to get up, gathering her things.

Harish perked up immediately, his demeanour changing from dramatic to pleading in an instant. "Oh! Oh! Can I come? Please, please, please!" He clasped his hands together, giving Meghana his best puppy-dog eyes.

"I promise I'll be good. I'll be quieter than a mouse. You won't even know I'm there!"

Meghana looked sceptical. "Harish, the last time you came, you nearly fainted when they checked and said my blood pressure was unusually high."

I cringed at the memory of his dramatic fainting spell when he saw Meghana's high blood pressure reading. And he was mad during the whole ride back home.

Because the nurse told him that he was the reason why Meghna's blood pressure was high.

He was the problem he was so worried about.

"But this time will be different!" Harish insisted, now on his knees in front of Meghana. "I've been practising! I can handle it now. Please, baby? Don't make me miss seeing our little peanut!"

"Meghu...Please" Harish whined, pulling out the big guns – puppy dog eyes and a pet name. "I'll be good, I swear on my collection of superhero figurines!"

Now that's some serious promise he is making to her because he would never involve his Superhero Figurines in something unless he was genuine and meant it.

Meghana's resolve visibly wavered. "Fine," she sighed. "But one toe out of line, and you're banned for life."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the spectacle. Harish could be a handful, but his enthusiasm was undeniably endearing.

"Yes!" Harish pumped his fist in victory. "Team Baby, assemble!"

I shook my head, amused despite myself. "Alright, you two. Time to get out of my home and be a responsible parents-to-be."

And i immediately Meghana added " who are soon to-be-divorced "

"Over my dead body " Harish grabbed Meghana's hand, pulling her up from the couch. "Thanks, Macchi. We'll be out of your hair in a minute."

" Come on Meghu, we got a mission check up " with that he dragged her to the room while she threw tantrums , knowing that no matter what she does, he won't stop tolerating her.

******

I was in the kitchen, stirring the chicken curry and keeping an eye on the steaming idiyappam when I heard the knock. The rich aroma of spices filled the air as I quickly lowered the heat and wiped my hands on a kitchen towel.

My sister Meghana had practically ordered me to have lunch ready by the time she returned from her hospital and I was determined not to disappoint her, especially when Harish was with her.

Dealing with one disappointment at a time is a lot for a pregnant woman.

As I opened the door, Shakthi stood there, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity and I felt a flutter in my chest that I immediately tried to suppress.

Stupid heart always gets me into doing something I enjoy doing but surely will regret later.

I had a momentary panic. Realising that she came earlier than I expected her to be while I was in the middle of cooking. The scent of curry and coconut from the idiyappam wafted out into the hallway, and I saw Shakthi's nostrils flare slightly.

Hope she isn't having second thoughts about this already.

"Come in," I said, stepping aside to let her enter. I watched as Shakthi's gaze roamed over my living space, taking in the carefully curated art and meticulously organised bookshelves. I wondered what she thought of my home, suddenly aware of every little detail - the faint scent of sandalwood incense I had lit earlier.

But the strong aroma of chicken curry overtook the sandalwood incense and now my whole house is smelling like Non veg hotel.

" I'm sorry if you're a vegetarian " i said as soon as she walked in.

She shook her head gently with a polite smile on her lips " you don't have to be sorry, I'm a non vegetarian"

That's a relief.

" So, Coffee or tea ?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the slight tremor I felt inside.

"Water is fine," Shakthi replied, her tone matching my composure.

As I went to the kitchen, I found myself hyper-aware of Shakthi's presence in my personal space. I filled a glass with filtered water, my mind racing. Was this a mistake? Had I crossed a line by inviting her here?

Why am I breaking my own rules for her ?

Returning to the living room, I saw Shakthi examining my bookshelf, her fingers tracing the spines of the books with a reverence that touched me. I handed her the water, studying her face for any reaction.

"So, what do you think?" I asked, curious about her impression of my collection.

She took a sip of the water after a brief hesitation and looked up and I gestured her to sit, I took the couch right opposite to hers, to settle in.

"It's... not what I expected," she admitted, glancing back at the shelves.

"When you said you had books, I thought there would be more fiction. This looks like the library of a very serious, slightly intimidating but boring professor."

I couldn't help but chuckle, surprised by the warmth in my own voice. "I guess I should have been more specific. I tend to read things that help me understand the world better, not escape from it." As soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered if they sounded too clinical, too detached.

"Of course. What else can I expect from a therapist? Do you alphabetize your socks too?" Shakthi's response carried a hint of playful criticism.

And for the first time I felt her making an initiative on casual talk blurring invisible the line between us.

I raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at my lips. "Touché," I said quietly, admiring her quick wit. "And for the record, I organise them by colour and thickness. It's a very efficient system."

Shakthi laughed, a sound that filled the room and made me realise how rare laughter was from her. "I bet you have a spreadsheet for your grocery list too."

Impressive, her sense of humour is coming out which means she is comfortable around me.

"I'll have you know that my spreadsheet has conditional formatting and pivot tables," I retorted, enjoying our banter more than I probably should.

A comfortable silence fell between us, and I found myself acutely aware of Shakthi's presence, the soft sound of her breathing, the way her fingers curled around the glass of water. I was surprised by how natural it seemed to have her in my space.

"Do you think there's value in fiction?" Shakthi asked suddenly, her gaze direct and challenging. "In this way it can teach us about empathy, about experiences we'll never have ourselves?"

I met her eyes, feeling a jolt of connection.

I carefully schooled my features, not wanting to reveal the depth of my reaction. "Of course. Fiction has its place. It's just not my usual choice." I wondered if she could sense the defensive note in my voice, my need to justify my preferences.

"But surely as a therapist, you see the value in stories?" Shakthi pressed. "Isn't therapy, in a way, about helping people rewrite their own stories?"

Her insight caught me off guard. She is definitely smarter than I thought she is.

"That's... a very astute observation," I admitted.

"You're right, of course. Stories are powerful tools for understanding ourselves and others. I suppose I've always been more comfortable with the theoretical frameworks behind those stories."

"But don't you think you're missing out on stuff?" Shakthi asked, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Fiction can be a window into the human soul, a way to experience a thousand lives in one lifetime."

I found myself smiling at her passion. "You make a compelling argument. Perhaps I've been too quick to dismiss fiction. So, What would you recommend for a recovering non-fiction addict?"

Shakthi's face lit up. "Oh, where to start! How about we make a deal? For every non-fiction book you recommend to me, I'll suggest a novel for you."

As we continued to discuss books, I found myself opening up more than I had in years. Shakthi's enthusiasm was infectious, and I realised that perhaps I had been missing out on something valuable all this time.

"You know," I said thoughtfully, "there's a quote by Franz Kafka that says, 'A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.' Maybe it's time I let fiction take a swing at my frozen sea."

Shakthi's smile was warm. "That's beautiful And who knows? You might find that fiction can be just as transformative as any self-help book. After all, as Ursula K. Le Guin said, 'The story is the tool with which we shape reality.'"

I nodded, feeling a sense of excitement I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Well then, I look forward to reading more fiction, but Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?" Shakthi asked, curious.

"No romance novels. I draw the line at love stories" I said with a mock-serious expression.

Shakthi burst into laughter, but then her eyes softened with genuine curiosity. "Why the aversion to love stories ?"

I felt my chest tighten, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out, "Because mine remained incomplete."

Fuck!

As soon as those words left my mouth, I felt a cold wave of regret wash over me. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I had to resist the urge to loosen my collar.

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched Shakthi's expression change, her eyes widening slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity flickering across her face. In that moment, I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn't allowed myself to be in years.

The pain in my chest was as fresh as it had been that day, over a decade ago.

I silently berated myself for this lapse in judgement. How could I have let this slip? I was always so careful, so guarded. But something about Shakthi had made me lower my defences, and now here I was, feeling raw and exposed.

What must she think of me now? Would she see me as damaged goods, a therapist who couldn't even handle his own emotional baggage? Or worse, would she pity me? The thought made me feel nauseous.

In that moment, I realised how much I'd isolated myself over the years. I'd thrown myself into my work, into helping others heal, all while keeping my own wounds tightly bandaged. But now, with just a few words, those bandages had been ripped away, leaving me feeling vulnerable and afraid.

Yet, as I looked at Shakthi, I didn't see judgement in her eyes. There was curiosity, yes, and concern, but also a warmth that I hadn't expected. It was that warmth that made me wonder – had I been wrong to keep myself so closed off? Was there still a chance for me to heal, to move forward?

The silence stretched on, becoming almost unbearable. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to dispel the tension, but Shakthi beat me to it.

"Okay then," she said, her voice gentle but deliberately light. "We'll start you off slow. Maybe a nice, wholesome children's book. How do you feel about 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar'?"

Her words, so unexpected and playful, caught me off guard. I felt the tension in my shoulders release, and a genuine smile spread across my face.

" Or how about Grumpy Monkey ?" She adds again before laughing, I couldn't help but laugh too.

Our laughter bounced off the walls, filling the room. I was amazed at how well she handled the situation. She managed to change the subject so smoothly, making things less awkward without ignoring what I had accidentally said. It was like she knew exactly how to make me feel comfortable again, even after I had shared something so personal.

Our eyes held for a moment and I felt a spark of something indefinable.

****

I lean back in my office chair, exhaling deeply. Three back-to-back therapy sessions have left me drained, the weight of my clients' struggles pressing down on my shoulders.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, reminding me of the relentless march of time. I close my eyes, intending to clear my mind for just a moment, but instead find myself transported back to that conversation a week ago.

"Because mine remained incomplete." The words echo in my head, as vivid as when I spoke them to Shakthi. I can still see the surprise in her eyes, that gentle curiosity replacing her usual guardedness. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for both of us, I realise now.

I rub my temples, frustration and melancholy washing over me in equal measure. How did I let my guard down so easily? I've always prided myself on my emotional control, on being the steady rock for my patients to lean on. Yet I stumbled into vulnerability with a few careless words, spoken in a moment of unexpected connection.

The fan whirs softly overhead, its rhythmic movement matching the ebb and flow of my thoughts. I try to focus on its steady rotation, but my mind has other plans. Suddenly, Abhirami is there, as vivid as if she were standing before me. Her laugh, melodious and carefree, rings in my ears. I can almost smell the jasmine in her hair, feel the warmth of her hand in mine.

"Stop it," I mutter aloud, my voice sounding harsh in the quiet room.

But it's too late.

The floodgates have opened, and memories I've kept locked away for years come rushing back.

I'm transported to that first day I saw her, stepping onto our school bus all excited to join my friends after summer vacation of 8th standard but the moment i saw her, everything changed. She was a vision in her crisp uniform, her long black hair neatly braided. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and she smiled - a smile that would become my anchor for years to come. I remember how my heart raced, how the world seemed to slow down around her.

Abhirami.

I never heard a name as beautiful as hers.

Her laughter echoes in my mind - the way it would bubble up from deep within her, infectious and pure. I see her eyes, dark and expressive, how they would light up when she talked about her dreams or crinkle at the corners when she was truly happy. Her presence was always magnetic; she had a way of making everyone around her feel special, heard, and understood.

Our last moment of togetherness returns with painful clarity. It was after our graduation party and our friends had left already and I had to drop her off at her hostel on my pulsar bike. The moonlight light caught Abhirami's eyes as she leaned over to kiss my cheeks, her lips soft against mine. She was wearing her favourite yellow Churidar which I gifted her for her twentieth birthday, the one that made her look like sunshine personified. The scent of her perfume - a delicate mix of jasmine and something uniquely her - lingered in the air.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she'd said.

Her eyes twinkled with a secret I'd never get to hear.

There was an extra bounce in her step that night, an excitement she couldn't quite contain. She had mentioned a surprise, something she wanted to share tomorrow- would have been a normal day for me but she tends to make it special.

If only I'd known it was the last time I'd see that smile, hear that voice. Would I have done anything differently? Would I have held her tighter, kissed her longer? Would I have told her, one more time, how much she meant to me?

I remember watching her walk away, her hair swinging gently with each step. She turned back once, waving with that radiant smile of hers. That's how I always see her in my mind - smiling, full of life and love, forever frozen in that moment of promise and possibility of.

The memory of her laughter on that last moment we spent together, haunts me now. It was so carefree, so full of hope for our future together. A future that was brutally cut short just seconds later.

If I'd known... if I'd only known... But I didn't.

And now, all I'm left with are these memories, bittersweet reminders of a love and a life that ended far too soon.

Incomplete.

I stand abruptly, the sudden movement causing my chair to roll back and hit the wall with a dull thud. I begin pacing the room, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Five steps one way, turn, five steps back. A rhythm to match the chaos in my mind.

I've spent years building walls around these memories, focusing on helping others heal while neglecting my own wounds. It seemed easier that way, safer. I could lose myself in my patients' problems, offer solutions and support without ever having to confront my own unresolved grief. Yet one conversation with Shakthi has cracked those defences, letting in a flood of emotions I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

Pausing at the window, I stare out at the bustling Chennai street below. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement, painting the city in hues of gold and orange. People rush by, each caught up in their own stories. A young couple walks hand in hand, lost in conversation. An elderly man carefully crosses the street, his cane tapping a steady rhythm. A group of schoolchildren laughs as they exit a nearby shop, their uniforms crisp and bright.

How many of them, I wonder, carry unfinished chapters like mine? How many smiles hide stories of loss and grief? In my line of work, I know the answer is probably "more than we realise." Yet we all keep moving, keep living, somehow.

A knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. "Dr. Mugilan? Your next appointment is here," my receptionist calls.

I take a deep breath, composing myself. "Send her in, please," I respond, my voice steadier than I feel.

The door opens, and a young woman enters. Kavyashree, my next patient. She's in her mid-twenties, with long dark hair and eyes that seem too old for her youthful face. I've been seeing her for a few months now, helping her work through the trauma of an abusive childhood.

As she takes her seat, I'm struck once again by the weight of her past visible in her demeanour. A familiar frustration wells up inside me - why do married couples stay together when it's clearly not working, when it's harming their children? I've seen it too many times in my practice: parents clinging to a toxic marriage, seemingly oblivious to the damage they're inflicting on their offspring.

In Kavyashree's case, her parents are finally divorced, but not before years of abuse had left deep scars on her psyche. I find myself wondering, as I often do, why they didn't end things sooner. Why did they choose to subject their child to years of torment rather than facing the reality of their failed marriage?

It's a tragic pattern I've observed repeatedly - couples trapped in unhappy marriages, using their children as emotional pawns or unpaid therapists to ease the burden of toxic marriage. They fail to realise, or perhaps they ignore, that their toxic marriage is creating a childhood trauma that their child will carry for life. Kavyashree is a living example to this sad reality.

I take a deep breath, pushing aside my personal feelings on the matter. My role now is to help Kavyashree heal, not to judge her parents' choices. Still, I can't help but feel a twinge of anger on her behalf, and on behalf of all the other patients I've seen who carry similar burdens.

"Good afternoon, Kavyashree," I greet her, working to keep my voice warm and neutral despite my inner turmoil. "How are you feeling today?"

She sits, her posture tense. "I'm... okay, I guess," she replies, her voice soft. "I had another nightmare about my father last night."

I nod, encouraging her to continue. As she speaks, I push my own tumultuous emotions aside, focusing entirely on her needs. This is what I do, after all. This is how I've coped for years.

"In the dream, he was shouting at my mother again," Kavyashree continues, her hands twisting in her lap. "But this time, when I tried to intervene, I couldn't move. I was frozen, just watching it happen."

As I listen, I'm struck by how openly she's sharing. It wasn't always like this. During the first few weeks of our sessions, Kavyashree struggled to open up, her words guarded and her emotions tightly controlled. It's a common element I help every patient fight against - that instinct to hide, to protect oneself from perceived judgement or harm.

I feel a small sense of pride, not for myself, but for Kavyashree. Her willingness to be vulnerable now is a testament to the progress she's made. It takes time to earn people's trust, to create an environment where they feel comfortable enough to let their vulnerabilities show without any shades or covers.

As she continues to describe her nightmare, I'm acutely aware of the responsibility I bear. She's entrusting me with her raw, unfiltered emotions, her deepest fears and insecurities. It's my duty to protect that vulnerability, to provide a safe space where she can explore these difficult feelings without fear of judgement or betrayal.

This trust, this willingness to be open, is the foundation of effective therapy. It's what allows us to dig deep, to confront the root causes of pain and begin the healing process. As Kavyashree speaks, I reaffirm my commitment to honour that trust, to guide her through this journey with care and respect.

"That sounds incredibly distressing," I say gently when she finishes describing her dream. "Can you tell me more about how you felt when you woke up?"

She takes a shaky breath. "Angry. Helpless. I know they're divorced now, that it's over, but sometimes it feels like I'm still that scared little girl."

As I listen to Kavyashree, I'm struck by the resilience in her voice, even as she describes her pain. It reminds me of something Shakthi said in our last session about the strength it takes to confront our past.

"Kavyashree," I begin, leaning forward slightly, "I want you to know that feeling angry and helpless is a natural response to what you've been through. But I also want you to recognize the strength you're showing by being here, by talking about these experiences."

She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. "Strength? But I feel so weak most of the time."

"Confronting our past, especially a painful one, takes immense courage," I tell her, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of my own unconfronted past. "You're not that helpless little girl anymore. You're actively working to heal and grow. That's not a weakness, Kavyashree. That's strength."

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "I... I never thought about it that way before."

As I watch the realisation dawn on Kavyashree's face, a thought strikes me. So much of the suffering I see in my practice stems from a lack of basic emotional support. People like Kavyashree often just need someone to truly listen, to be present with them - even in silence.

"You know, Kavyashree," I begin, my voice soft, "one of the most powerful forms of support is simply being there for someone. Listening without judgement, offering a comforting presence."

She nods, her eyes attentive.

"Sadly," I continue, "in our fast-paced world, people have become so busy that they rarely take the time to truly be there for one another. We're constantly rushing, always connected to our devices, but often disconnected from each other on a deeper level."

I lean back slightly, my gaze thoughtful. "I often wonder, if more people had someone in their lives who made them feel truly seen, heard, and understood, how many fewer cases of severe emotional distress would we see? How many fewer people would need professional therapy?"

Kavyashree's brow furrows in consideration. "Do you think... is that why support groups can be so helpful? Because they provide that kind of understanding?"

"Exactly," I nod, pleased by her insight. "Support groups, good friends, understanding family members - they can all play a crucial role in emotional well-being. They create a space where people can express themselves freely and feel accepted."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, a sudden realisation hits me like a wave. Shakthi. This is exactly what Shakthi needs, but doesn't have. The image of her, alone in her apartment, flashes through my mind. I remember her mentioning that she rarely steps out, barely interacting with her neighbours or anyone else.

A pang of concern tightens my chest. How isolated she must feel, cut off from the very connections that could offer her comfort and understanding. It's a stark contrast to the bustling world outside her windows, a world she's chosen to shut out.

I find myself wondering about the reasons behind her self-imposed isolation. Is it fear? Past trauma? Or simply a habit that's grown too comfortable to break? Whatever the cause, the effects are clear - she's depriving herself of the human connections that could be vital to her emotional well-being.

"Dr. Mugilan?" Kavyashree's voice pulls me back to the present.

" Yeah so i was saying... " As we continue our session, discussing coping strategies and working through her feelings, I find my thoughts occasionally drifting back to Shakthi. alone in her apartment and completely disconnecting herself with the outer world thinking it may help her overcome her trauma.

As a therapist, I know the importance of maintaining professional boundaries. But as a man who sees her as more than a patient or client, I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility to somehow reach out, to offer her a connection to the world she's shut herself away from.

Here is Kavyashree, bravely facing her trauma head-on, while both Shakthi and I have been isolating ourselves in different ways.

Well isolating oneself to deal with trauma doesn't always work for everyone in the same way. It differs for people to people, the process of healing makes a huge difference based on what way they choose to deal with it and considering Shakthi's past life of growing up in an Orphanage, seeking connection with peoples to Now, where she is completely isolating herself is a threat to her own self. It won't take much time for her to slip into a darkness from where she can not return to the light she stepped away from for a while.

As her Therapist i know the importance of maintaining professional boundaries and the risk of crossing that boundaries with her But as a man who sees her as more than just a patient or client, I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility to somehow reach out, to offer her a connection to the world she's shut herself away from.

However I can't make it obvious to her so I have to think of something else.

*****

Three days had passed since the unexpected moment of vulnerability with Shakthi, and i find myself still grappling with how to help her connect with others. my mind had been preoccupied with this challenge, even as i juggled my usual caseload and volunteer work. Just that afternoon, I'd visited my former professor and mentor, seeking guidance on a particularly complex case. The day had been long and draining, leaving me yearning for the sanctuary of my apartment and a few moments of peace.

I trudged into the elevator of my apartment building, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. My usually crisp shirt was wrinkled, and I could feel strands of hair out of place. The circles under my eyes were a testament to the long hours I'd been putting in lately.

Just as the doors were about to close, a small figure darted in - one of the kids from the second floor. What struck me immediately was how utterly drained he looked. His shoulders sagged under an oversized backpack, his face pale and eyes unfocused.

"Hey there, champ," I said, trying to inject some levity into my voice. "You look like you just went ten rounds with a textbook... and the textbook won."

The boy barely glanced up, offering only a mumbled "Mm" in response.

Undeterred, I tried again.

"You know, when I was your age, my backpack was so heavy I thought I might tip over backwards like a turtle." I mimed an exaggerated stumble, hoping for even a flicker of amusement.

But the boy remained unresponsive, his eyes fixed on the elevator floor numbers as they slowly ticked upward.

And my attempts at humour fell flat.

Concern replaced my initial approach. "It's pretty late for a kid your age to be getting home. Extra classes?"

He nodded listlessly. "Math and Science," he muttered.

"And what grade are you in?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Fifth," came the quiet reply.

I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. A fifth-grader, trudging home at 8:30 PM after a full day of school and extra classes.

No wonder the poor kid looked ready to collapse.

Before I could probe further, the elevator dinged, signalling the boy's floor. With visible effort, the boy hefted his backpack and shuffled out. I watched him go, a mixture of concern and frustration etched on my face as the small figure disappeared down the dimly lit hallway.

As the elevator continued its ascent, I leaned back against the wall, my mind racing. The image of that exhausted child stuck with me, a harsh reminder of the pressures society often placed on even literally childrens who are supposed to be all giggling and playing around at this stage..

Finally reaching my floor, I approached my apartment door, longing for a quiet evening with a glass of whiskey and a good book.

But as I reached for my keys, I paused. The apartment was... quiet. Too quiet.

Something is off, I mean where my beloved sister and her idiot husband is, there won't be any moment of quietness unless,

My plan of spending a peaceful evening with whisky and a good book already collapsed making me expect the worst scenarios the moment I enter inside.

I braced myself and opened the door.

The scene that greeted me was both unexpected and instantly telling. Meghana and Harish sat side by side on the couch, their eyes fixed on a small silver tiffin box on the coffee table. A bright yellow Post-it note was stuck to the top.

Shit!

I'm caught.

Part of me wanted to turn around and walk right back out.

But I knew even if I moved to another country this husband and wife duo would find me to hold me answerable for this tiffin box trade . With a quiet sigh, I stepped into the apartment.

The silver tiffin box sitting on the coffee table. It was the one I'd used to pack chicken curry and idiyappam for Shakthi that day she came to explore my book collection. The memory of that moment washed over me - how I'd asked her to wait just a few seconds while I ducked into the kitchen, how she'd initially refused to take the food, and how I'd insisted she try my cooking. It was the first time we'd shared a meal, however indirectly.

I'd assumed Shakthi would simply return the tiffin box, but the bright yellow sticky note adorning its top piqued my curiosity. Quickening my pace, I reached for the tiffin box, my eyes scanning the handwritten message: "I tried something to thank you for the chicken curry and idiyappam."

Aww, her handwriting is so good.

A smile tugged at my lips as I opened the tiffin box to find several pieces of Athirasam nestled inside. The warmth of the tiffin box says that it's freshly made by her. And the aroma of the sweetness filled the hall.

The sweet gesture of hers warmed me more than I cared to admit.

Shakthi had not only returned the box but had taken the time to prepare something in return.

It was a small act, but a special one.

I can't wait to eat this.

Lost in thought, I nearly jumped when I heard a throat being cleared pointedly. Looking up, I found myself pinned under Meghana's piercing glare.

Ah, shit. I'd been so focused on Shakthi's Athirasam that I'd momentarily forgotten about my sister and Harish's presence. Judging by their expressions, they hadn't missed my reaction to the tiffin box.

Attempting to salvage the situation, I tried to casually stroll towards my room, aiming for a smooth escape from this critical situation.

However, my path was abruptly blocked by Harish, who materialised in front of me with a grin that could only be described as shit-eating. He looked like a cat who'd just found an unattended bowl of cream.

"Someone left this at our doorstep after pressing the bell," said Meghana, dramatically tapping her chin. "I wonder who it could be? Perhaps a secret admirer of my perpetually grumpy brother?"

Here goes the last two brain cells of their collective mind.

I swear, between the two of them, they couldn't rub together enough neurons to light a birthday candle.

" Didn't I tell you? Your brother is doing something behind our back?" Harish looks at Meghana who nods her head while her eyes are still on me, waiting for me to answer the question she didn't ask but made it obvious.

" I knew something was going on, you were being too Sus Machi " Harish winked at me and I sighed.

This guy needs some smacking from me for sure.

" Guys, it's nothing like you... " before i coiled complete Meghana chimed in " Of Course now you would say that after getting caught in bright daylight.......and here i was getting worried for you since you never showed any interest in dating for a decade "

" She even suspected you were a guy and was trying to get you a gay partner to date. It's only after I convinced her that you're not a gay she stopped. " Harish chuckled while I felt thankful for Harish, who for the first time did some brainer by stopping her search for a gay partner for me.

"So this is why you wanted us to leave you alone that day, huh?" Harish waggled his eyebrows so vigorously I feared they might fly off his face. "Who is this mysterious tiffin box girl? Does she know she's courting Chennai's most eligible brooder?"

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain. "Bold of you to assume it's a girl, idiot. It's Krishnamurthi uncle from the 3rd floor who returned the favour with a sweet gesture. He's really upped his Athirasam game."

My attempt at savage wit failed miserably, eliciting snorts of laughter that sounded like a pig farm during feeding time.

Meghana gasped dramatically, clutching her pearls (which she wasn't wearing). "Oh my god, Mugilan! Are you actually blushing while trying to lie? I didn't think your face could do that! Quick, Harish, take a picture! This is rarer than a solar eclipse!"

"I'm not blushing," I muttered, fully aware that the heat creeping up my neck betrayed my words. "It's just... warm in here. Maybe if you two weren't constantly generating hot air, we could save on the electricity bill."

Harish clutched his chest, staggering backwards as if mortally wounded. "Ouch! He wounds us with his razor-sharp wit, Meghu! I may never recover."

He immediately adds " But seriously, bro, who's the lucky woman? And more importantly, is she living nearby? Because if she can tolerate you, she must be a saint and I'd like to learn her secrets."

I tried to sidestep him, but Harish was quicker, snatching the tiffin box from my hands with the agility of a magician performing a sleight of hand trick. "Ooh, Athirasam! Can I have one? Or are these reserved for your late-night brooding sessions?"

"No!" I snapped, lunging for the box like a man possessed. Realising my mistake, I scrambled to recover. "I mean... It's not polite to eat food meant for someone else. Especially when that someone else is me."

Meghana's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Since when do you care about politeness? The last time someone tried to share your food, you hissed like an angry cat. Come on, spill! Who is she? Does she know that you're turning thirty four in two months ?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose so hard I feared I might leave a permanent mark. "She's a client, okay? Nothing more. Can we drop this now? Or do I need to hire a skywriter to spell it out for you two?"

But my words only seemed to fuel their curiosity like gasoline on a bonfire.

Harish's eyes widened comically, looking like a cartoon character who'd just seen a ghost. "A client? Mugila, you sly dog! Isn't that against some therapist code or something? Or are you planning to break the 'Don't date your patients' rulebook?"

"It's not like that," I groaned, feeling my composure slipping faster than a penguin on an ice slide. "We just... shared a meal out of politeness. That's all. It's a normal human interaction, not that you two would know anything about that."

Meghana snickered, looking far too pleased with herself. "Right. Because you're such a social butterfly, always sharing meals with others out of 'politeness'." Her sweet like nothing tone had sarcasm dripping from.

"You literally banned Harish from the kitchen for eating your favourite cookie. I thought you were going to perform an exorcism on the place after that incident." she yelled, throwing murderous glares at me.

"Because he not only ate my favourite and rarely purchasable cookie but left the cookie crumbles everywhere!" I exclaimed, feeling my blood pressure rise at the memory. "The kitchen looked like the aftermath of a cookie monster rampage. There were ants having a rave party there for weeks!"

I'm very sensitive when it comes to my kitchen. I can't stand insects dancing on vessels or anywhere near my kitchen but everytime Harish enters my kitchen, he creates havoc in there and leaves without even cleaning it.

While they were busy discussing how to make me spill the bean, I made another attempt to escape. But I found myself sandwiched between my sister and my best friend, both wearing identical grins that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous.

Fuck my life.

I'd have better luck escaping from Alcatraz with a plastic spoon.

"Come on, Mugilan," Meghana coaxed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Give us something. What's her name? Is she living somewhere near? Does she know about your serious allergy to other people's love life? Or your irrational fear of an unorganised messy house?"

"Yeah," Harish chimed in, looking like he was having the time of his life. "And does she know that you sleep with a nightlight because you once watched a scary movie trailer by accident? Because that's a deal-breaker for some women, you know."

I glared at them both, my attempts at maintaining my usual cool, sarcastic demeanour crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a tsunami. "Her name is none of your business, and for the last time, there's nothing going on between us! What part of 'client' do you not understand? Should I break out the puppets and crayons to explain it?"

My vehement denial only seemed to convince them further that there was something going on. They exchanged knowing looks that made me want to bang my head against the wall. I knew I was in for a long night of teasing, possibly extending into next week, next month, and quite possibly the rest of my natural life.

As I stood there, trapped between my nosy sister and my equally annoying best friend, I couldn't help but think that perhaps I should have just stayed at the office. At least there, the only thing I had to worry about was other people's problems, not my own rapidly unravelling personal life. Maybe I could build a fort out of case files and live there permanently.

With a resigned sigh that could have deflated a hot air balloon, I prepared myself for the onslaught of questions I knew was coming.

So much for a quiet evening at home. Between Shakthi's unexpected gesture and Meghana and Harish's relentless teasing, it was clear that peace and quiet were luxuries I wouldn't be enjoying anytime soon.

Not until these two exist in the same space as mine. Maybe it's time to look into soundproof rooms. Or a deserted island.

Whichever Is cheaper.