MK drifted into sleep clinging to Shriya like the last piece of safety she had left in the world. Even after her breathing softened, Shriya didn't let go. Her arm went numb. Her back hurt. But she held her tighter. MK had cried herself into exhaustion, and Shriya refused to be the person who loosened her grip.
"I love you, MK," she whispered into MK's hair, barely audible, as though the words themselves might shatter her sleeping girlfriend if spoken too loudly.
And MK, unconscious and fragile, leaned deeper into her chest—like she heard her anyway.
Shriya didn't sleep that night.
She watched the shadows crawl across the ceiling, watched dawn leak into the room, watched MK finally wake, get ready for work, kiss her cheek, and leave with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
The door clicked shut.
Shriya exhaled sharply, grabbed her jacket, and left the apartment.
But she wasn't heading to her job.
---
THE VISIT TO HELEN
By 7:15 a.m., Shriya was already sitting in the waiting area of Helen's therapy office—fifteen minutes before the building even opened. She sat perfectly still, back straight, fingers laced together tightly. People often talked about Shriya's presence as "dangerous," but waiting here, she looked almost… nervous.
When footsteps approached from behind the glass doors, Shriya shot up.
"Helen. Mrs. Helen," she called out a little too urgently.
The therapist nearly flinched. "Oh my goodness—Shriya? What are you doing here this early?"
Shriya hesitated, then cleared her throat. "I… need your help. And I brought you a gift for helping us last time."
Helen blinked. "…Gift?"
Shriya gestured for her to follow.
They stepped outside, and parked neatly in front of the building was a brand-new luxury SUV. Sleek, polished, with a ribbon on top. Shriya held out a key like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"This is for you. Thank you for helping MK," Shriya said. "You were… very helpful."
"It's my job," Helen managed, still half in shock. How could anyone forget this woman—the one whose aura made even police officers step aside?
"You don't like it?" Shriya raised a brow, misinterpreting her stunned silence. "MK likes this model. But if you prefer…" She pointed to her own sports car, engine humming low and dangerous. "You can have mine instead."
Helen's eyes widened so fast it almost hurt.
She imagined showing up to work in Shriya's car and immediately pictured hitmen circling her office.
"I'll take the new one!" she squeaked. "The SUV. Let's… go inside."
---
THE SESSION
It took almost an hour for Shriya to recount everything MK had told her the night before—her childhood, the loneliness, the shame, the fear of disappointing her mother, the pressure of being the strong one, the hidden breakdowns, the fear of parents, relatives, society.
Helen listened, taking careful notes.
When Shriya finished, silence settled like dust.
"Shriya," Helen began gently, "Yes—it's possible she's carrying childhood trauma. Deep, unprocessed. Probably linked to growing up without a father, financial hardship, emotional neglect, and the need to stay strong for her mother."
Shriya's face softened, all edges dissolving. "So it wasn't just guilt. She's… carrying fear too."
Helen nodded. "Fear. Shame. Self-blame. And years of suppressing emotions because she felt responsible for everything and everyone."
Shriya swallowed hard. "What do I do?"
"First…" Helen leaned forward. "Tell me how you feel, hearing all that."
Shriya hesitated. Then:
"I… don't know what to feel. I'm not scared of kids or family or expectations. I just never thought about it. If MK wanted kids, I'd figure it out. If she didn't, that's also fine. But the way she said it last night… she sounded afraid. Not uninterested—afraid."
Helen nodded. "That's what trauma does. It turns normal expectations into threats."
"And I want to help her," Shriya said quietly. "I just don't know how."
Helen slid her notepad aside. "Then listen closely. This is what she needs from you."
Shriya sat straighter, like a soldier receiving orders.
"She needs to know that when everything goes wrong—when she breaks, when the world judges her, when she feels like she's failing—you won't leave. She needs to feel safe enough to unpack the years she's been hiding from herself. No pressure, no judgment. Just presence."
Shriya breathed out slowly.
Helen continued. "You need to show her that your love is not conditional. That she won't lose you if she reveals more of herself. And when she's ready, guide her gently into talking about her past. Ask softly. Let her set the pace."
Shriya absorbed every word like gospel.
By the time she left the office, she didn't understand every psychological term Helen had used—but she understood the mission.
She was going to stand by MK.
No matter what.
---
MEANWHILE… AT THE COMPANY
MK stood in the center of the boardroom like a criminal on trial.
Half the board members avoided her eyes. The other half looked at her with thinly veiled disgust—or fear. Her coming out wasn't the problem. The problem was whose girlfriend she was.
Someone had threatened the company. Someone powerful.
And MK was now the scapegoat.
"What does my personal life have to do with the company?" MK asked, tone perfectly calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes from someone who learned long ago to hide emotions behind bulletproof glass.
"According to our moral code," one board member said, reading from a paper with shaking hands, "your… situation… reflects poorly on our public image."
"A bad influence," another added, more confident now that the attack had begun.
MK inhaled slowly. "So I'm being fired because I'm dating a woman?"
"Yes."
The word came from several voices at once—sharp, rehearsed, unashamed.
But MK saw the real truth in their eyes.
This wasn't about morality.
This wasn't about company image.
This was about Shriya.
About the danger of being associated with her.
About threats whispered behind closed doors.
Someone wanted MK gone.
And the board preferred to sacrifice her rather than fight.
MK's jaw tightened by a fraction. The humiliation stung, but she didn't break. Not here. Not in front of them.
She simply lifted her chin and said, "Then say it clearly. Put it in writing. So I know exactly who fired me—for loving someone."
Her voice didn't shake.