Olivia's POV:
The evening light spilled across the wooden floor of our apartment, soft and golden. Sebastian stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something on the stove that filled the room with a rich, savory aroma. But I couldn't stop pacing. My thoughts were tangled and heavy, like stones in my pocket.
"I saw Carter again today," I finally said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
Sebastian looked up instantly, his brow furrowing. The wooden spoon in his hand stilled. "And?"
"He looked awful." I sank into a chair, running my fingers through my hair. "Tired. Absent. His office was a mess. He missed another meeting."
"Define 'awful,'" Sebastian said, turning down the heat on the stove before coming around the counter. His socked feet made no sound on the floor. "Are we talking normal Carter-stressed or something more?"
"Something more. Much more." I looked up at him, the worry I'd been carrying all day finally finding its voice. "His eyes were bloodshot. He kept fidgeting with his hands—you know, that thing he does when he's anxious? And he couldn't focus on anything I was saying. It was like he was there but... not really there."
Sebastian knelt beside me, concern etched deep into his features. "You think it's happening again? The pills?"
"I know it is," I said quietly. "I spoke to his secretary, Diane."
"What did she tell you?" Sebastian asked, his hand finding mine.
"She told me he hadn't come in for two days. And when I went today, he brushed it off. Said he was just tired. That he'd been working late on the Hensley account." I shook my head. "But it wasn't just that. His eyes... his hands... I know that look. We both have seen that look the same night he came to my house when we both helped him."
Sebastian's thumb traced circles on my palm. "You're sure it's not just stress? Work has been pushing him pretty hard lately."
"I asked him that," I said. "He laughed it off. Said, "and told me it's not that' But then his phone kept buzzing, and he'd check it with this... this look of panic. It didn't work. It wasn't us. And when I asked if he needed anything, if there was anything I could do to help, he just said, 'I'm fine, Liv. Don't worry about me. I've got this under control.'"
"Those exact words?" Sebastian asked, his voice sharpening. "'Under control'?"
I nodded. "Those were the words he used before. When we told him to go to Rehab"
Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Is it Emily?"
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach at the name. "I mean she's back. She's been showing up at his place. Pretending to help. I know her, Seb. She left him the moment he admitted he was struggling; she told everyone at the school. she closed the door in his face when he went to her after coming back from Rehab. And now she's back, when he's vulnerable. It doesn't add up."
"How do you know she's been at his place?" Sebastian asked, his voice careful.
"Because he mentioned her. Not directly. But when I was there, he got a text, and he said, 'That's just Em. She's bringing over dinner.' Like it was the most normal thing in the world." I leaned forward, my voice dropping. "And then I saw a woman's sweater on his couch. Pink. Cashmere. Emily's favorite."
Sebastian stood up, pacing now. "What the hell is she thinking? After what she did to him?"
"I don't know," I said, watching him move. "But she always was this way right when she knew Carter had money now, and her relationship was not going good with her husband, so she came back to him because he has money now."
He stopped pacing, turning to me. "Did you confront him about it?"
"I tried," I said, the frustration clear in my voice. And he just... shut down. He just told me, 'She understands me, Liv. She doesn't judge.' As if we had judged him. As if we hadn't been the ones who stayed."
Sebastian came back to me, sitting in the chair opposite. "What can we do? You know how Carter is. He shuts down when we try to get close."
"We were there, Seb," I said, my eyes meeting his. "We saw what the pills did to him that night, how devastated he was,s how he wanted to get back to his normal life, how he didn't want to go to his mom's way, which destroys his family
"I know," Sebastian said softly.
"I'm not giving up on him," I said, a stubborn edge hardening my voice. "But I think we need help. Someone he'll actually listen to."
He gave me a questioning glance. "Like who? We've been his best friends since freshman year. If he won't listen to us—"
"Aishwariya," I said, the name falling between us like a revelation.
Sebastian's expression shifted from doubt to consideration. "You think she'd help? I mean, they have only met like 3 times."
"I don't know Seb, but we can try right" I finished for him.
Sebastian said "But what if she doesn't want to get involved? What if there was a reason they stopped talking? And isn't she getting married soon? right?"
"She is," I acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean she wouldn't want to help. Right now, Carter needs someone who can reach him in a way we can't."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "You're right. If anyone can get through to him now, maybe it's her."
Aishwariya's POV:
The café was quiet, the kind of quiet that hummed in your bones. I sat by the window, the sunlight warming my hands as they wrapped around a cup of tea I hadn't touched. My heart had been pounding since the moment I agreed to meet Olivia. I hadn't heard from Carter, not since that night. Not after the things he said.
When Olivia entered, she looked older than I remembered—more tired, more burdened. But she smiled, and it wasn't forced.
"Aishwariya," she said, pulling me into a gentle hug. "Thanks for coming."
I nodded, unsure what to say. "It's good to see you, Olivia. How have you been?"
"Honestly?" She slid into the seat across from me, unwinding her scarf. "Not great. That's why I called you."
I watched her carefully, noting the shadows under her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands as she ordered her coffee. "This isn't about wedding photos, is it?"
She shook her head. "No. It's not."
"I thought as much," I said, finally taking a sip of my tea, which had gone lukewarm. "I've been wondering why you'd want to see me after all this time."
She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. "I know this is a lot. And I know we haven't spoken much since the wedding. But this isn't about that. It's about Carter."
My heart skipped. "What about him?" The question came out more sharply than I intended.
"He's relapsing," she said bluntly, her voice shaking slightly. "He's back on drugs. Pills, I think. Maybe more. He's been missing work. He's not himself."
I swallowed hard, feeling something cold settle in my chest. "He said he was clean."
"He was," Olivia said quickly, leaning forward. "For 7 years. After the rehab program, he was doing so well. He was going to meetings. He was talking to his therapist. He was... he was happy. At least, I thought he was."
"What changed?" I asked, hating how much I cared, even after telling him that we are strangers.
"I don't know exactly," Olivia admitted. He gradually stops reply min and seb's messages then I went to meet him he was look so dull, devastated very pale his eyes were red."
"And you think it's drugs?" I pressed. "You're sure?"
Olivia's eyes met mine, unwavering. "I know the signs, Aishwariya. "We have seen him when he came to ask for help for the first time."
"When did it start?" I asked, trying to piece together a timeline in my head.
"About 1 week ago," Olivia said.
1 week after I told him we were strangers, did he relapse because of me
"And I think it's all because of Emily."
I blinked. "Emily? Who's Emily?"
Olivia looked surprised. "He never told you about her? I thought... well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Carter never liked talking about that part of his past."
"No, he never mentioned anyone named Emily," I said, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and discomfort.
Olivia nodded, her mouth setting in a thin line. "She was my best friend once. We all went to school together—Carter, Sebastian, me, and Emily. But when Carter admitted his addiction, she left him. And tell everyone in the school about his drug problem, and while leaving him she told him that he was 'too much work.' Her exact words."
I felt my stomach twist. "And now she's back?"
"Showed up on his office about 1 month ago," Olivia confirmed. "Claiming she'd changed. That she wanted to make amends. That she'd made a mistake leaving him."
"And he believed her?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.
"Carter has always had a blind spot when it comes to Emily," Olivia said with a sigh. "They were together seven years ago only for some months, but he loved her so much, I don't even know why." And she rolled her eyes
"Now she's been visiting him. Acting like she's trying to help. But I don't buy it."
I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach. "I had no idea."
"I know this is a lot to ask," Olivia said hesitantly. "Especially with your wedding coming up. But Carter... I think he will listen to you."
"That was before," I said quietly. "We haven't spoken in weeks."
"What happened?" Olivia asked gently. "If you don't mind me asking."
I sighed, running a finger along the rim of my teacup. "I am getting married Olivia. I can't just talk to Carter right, it just feels wrong."
Olivia didn't press. She simply reached into her bag and handed me a small slip of paper. "This is his address. I don't know if he'll let you in. I don't know what you'll find. But he needs someone who isn't me or Sebastian right now. Someone who sees him differently."
I stared at the paper, my hand trembling slightly.
I looked up at her, feeling a complicated mix of fear and determination. "What if it's too late? What if he doesn't want my help?"
"Then at least we tried," Olivia said, her eyes filling with tears. "Because I can't lose him, Aishwariya. None of us can."
I folded the paper carefully, tucking it into my purse. "I'll try," I said quietly. "But I can't promise anything. Not with my wedding just two months away now."
"Just... be careful," Olivia said gently, reaching across to squeeze my hand. "He's fragile right now. But I believe he can still come back. He just needs someone to believe it, too."
The door to Carter's apartment wasn't locked. That alone made my chest tighten. I had stood outside for nearly twenty minutes, rehearsing what I would say, how I would explain my presence after weeks of silence. But the unlocked door changed everything.
The hallway was dim, the air stale. I stepped inside slowly, whispering his name.
"Carter? It's me. Aishwariya."
No answer.
I moved further into the apartment, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The living room looked like a war zone—empty bottles, a couple of crushed pill packets, a couch with a blanket tangled like someone had been crashing there for days. The coffee table was littered with takeout containers and what looked like prescription bottles.
"Carter?" I called again, louder this time. "Are you here?"
And then I saw him.
He was lying on the floor, curled up near the coffee table. His chest rose and fell, shallow and slow. I rushed to him, kneeling beside his unconscious body. His skin was clammy, and there was a faint glaze over his eyes, even though they were closed.
"Carter," I said, shaking him gently. "Carter, wake up. Please wake up."
He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I touched his cheek gently. "Carter... It's me. It's Aishwariya."
He didn't stir.
I checked his pulse—steady, but slow. His breathing was regular. Relief washed over me; he wasn't overdosing, just heavily sedated. I looked around the room, trying to piece together what had happened. A bottle of whiskey, half empty. Pills were scattered on the table. A phone with the screen lit up with missed calls and texts.
I picked it up. The most recent message was from someone named "Em."
Where are you? I've been waiting for an hour. Guess you changed your mind about dinner. Call me when you're not being a flake.
I put the phone down, anger and concern battling within me. This must be Emily—the woman Olivia had mentioned. The one who had abandoned Carter when he needed support, only to resurface when it suited her.
I looked back at Carter, at the man who had seemed so vibrant during those three meetings, who had talked about art and life with such passion and wit. The contrast between that man and the one before me now was startling.
"What happened to you?" I whispered.
I stayed. I cleaned up the bottles, found a blanket and pillow, and made the couch somewhat livable. I found his bathroom, located a washcloth, and dampened it with cool water. Returning to him, I gently wiped his face, his neck, his hands. Then I sat beside him on the floor, my back against the wall, and waited.
Hours passed. I checked my phone—no messages from Aaron. He was probably still in that conference in Boston, completely unaware that I was here. I felt a twinge of guilt; I hadn't told him about Olivia's call or my decision to check on Carter. But Aaron would be tied up in meetings for the next few days, and this couldn't wait.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Carter stirred, groaning softly.
"Water," he mumbled. "Please."
I rose quickly, finding a clean glass in the kitchen and filling it. When I returned, he had rolled onto his side, one arm thrown over his eyes.
"Here," I said softly, kneeling beside him.
He lowered his arm slowly, squinting in the dim light. His eyes widened when they focused on my face.
"Aishweriya?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Is that really you?"
I helped him sit up, pressing the glass to his lips. "Drink," I said gently. "We can talk after."
He drank deeply, his hands too shaky to hold the glass himself. When he finished, he leaned back against the wall, his eyes never leaving my face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"Olivia was worried about you," I said simply.
"How did you know where I live?"
"Olivia."
His eyes darkened. "She had no right."
"She cares about you," I said firmly. "We all do."
He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don't need your pity."
"Good," I said. "Because that's not what this is."
We sat in silence, the weight of our last conversation pressing between us.
"You should go," he finally said. "I'm fine."
"Are you?" I gestured to the room around us. "This doesn't look fine to me, Carter."
"What do you care?" he snapped, his voice gaining strength. "You're getting married, right? To that lawyer. Shouldn't you be picking out china patterns or something? I mean we are strangers right, your words, not mine".
I flinched at the bitterness in his voice. "Aaron and I are getting married in two months, yes. But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about my friends."
"Is that what we are?" he asked harshly. "Friends? Because the last time we spoke, you made it pretty clear you didn't want to see me anymore."
"That's not fair," I said quietly. "I was trying to help."
"I didn't ask for your help then," he said, struggling to his feet. "And I'm not asking for it now."
I stood too, steadying him when he swayed. "Carter, please. Just listen—"
"No," he said, pulling away from me. "I don't need another lecture. I don't need your concern. I don't need you coming in here and cleaning up my mess like I'm some project you can fix before your big day."
"That's not what I'm doing," I protested, but he was already moving away, stumbling toward the kitchen.
"Just go, Aishweriya," he said, his back to me. "Go back to your perfect life and your perfect fiancé. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," I insisted, following him. "Look at yourself, Carter. Look at this place. You're falling apart."
He whirled around, his eyes blazing. "And what if I am? What's it to you? You're not my girlfriend. You're not my therapist. You're just someone who planned my friends' wedding, and what right that give you have to tell me how to live my life?"
His words stung, but I stood my ground. "Olivia and Sebastian are worried sick about you. They love you, and they're watching you destroy yourself again. And for what? For Emily? The woman who abandoned you when you needed her most?"
Something flashed in his eyes—pain, anger, I couldn't tell. "You don't know anything about Emily."
"I know she left you when you were struggling," I said, softening my voice. "I know she hurt you. And I know she's back now, and suddenly you're using again. That's not a coincidence, Carter."
He laughed, a hollow sound that held no humor. "So now you know. About Emily. About the pills. About what a mess I am."
"I know you're struggling," I said carefully. "And I know you don't have to do it alone."
"You don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "Emily understands me. She doesn't judge. She knows what I need."
I felt a surge of frustration. "Is that what she told you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she came back right when you were doing well, and now you're spiraling again."
"She came back because she cares," he said defensively. "Unlike everyone else who's just waiting for me to fail."
"That's not true," I said firmly. "Olivia and Sebastian have never given up on you. And I'm here, aren't I?"
"Only because Olivia asked you to check on me," he retorted. "We barely know each other, Aishweriya. We had what, three meetings? You don't know me."
That stung, even though there was truth to it. "I know enough," I said quietly. "I know the man who talked about the constellation. I know the man who talks about ice cream. I know the man who was full of life and ideas, and hope. Who talks about he doesn't want back to his old life?"
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "That man is gone."
"I don't believe that," I said. "He's still in there, Carter. I've seen him."
"You've seen what I wanted you to see," he shot back. "The version of me that's easier to deal with. The version people like."
"And this is the real you?" I gestured around the apartment. "Pills and whiskey and anger?"
His eyes flashed. "Maybe it is! Maybe this is all I am!"
Without warning, he swept his arm across the counter, sending dishes crashing to the floor. I jumped back, startled by the sudden violence.
"This is what it's like!" he shouted, gesturing wildly at the broken ceramic. "This is me! Broken! Unfixable! A mess that no one should have to clean up!"
"Carter—"
"No!" he continued, his voice rising. "You want to understand? Fine! I push people away because, eventually, they all leave anyway. Olivia found Sebastian, I mean, I left Olivia. So yes, she has every right to find someone, i am not complaining I was the mistake. Emily found someone better. Everyone moves on, builds a life, and I'm just... stuck. Alone. Because I'm not worth staying for."
His voice broke on the last word, and suddenly the anger seemed to drain out of him. He slumped against the counter, his shoulders shaking.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding. Despite the crash of breaking dishes, despite his shouting, I hadn't moved from my spot. And that realization struck me suddenly—I hadn't run. I hadn't even flinched beyond the initial startle.
I get nervous when Aaron raises his voice even a little during arguments. Yet here's Carter, breaking dishes and yelling, and I'm still standing here. Why is that?
The answer came to me in a quiet wave: because beneath Carter's rage was pain, not control. Aaron's raised voice always carried an undercurrent of authority, of expectation. Carter's outburst was a cry for help.
"I'm alone," he whispered, so quietly I almost missed it. "I've driven everyone away. And now I'm driving you away too."
I moved toward him slowly, careful not to startle him. "You haven't driven me away, Carter. I'm right here."
He looked up, his eyes swimming with tears. "I don't deserve it. Any of it. The concern. The care. The second chances. I destroy everything good in my life."
"That's not true," I said gently. "Olivia and Sebastian are still here. They've never left your side."
"It's different," he mumbled. "They have each other. I'm just the third wheel now."
"And the pills?" I asked softly. "Is that who you want to be again?"
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the broken dishes on the floor. "No," he finally whispered. "But sometimes it's easier than feeling... this. The emptiness. The loneliness."
I stepped closer, careful to avoid the shards. "You're not alone, Carter. Not if you don't want to be."
"How can you say that?" he asked, his voice raw. "You're getting married. You're starting a new life. Everyone is moving forward, and I'm just... here. Stuck in the same patterns."
"You don't have to be," I said quietly. "You can break the cycle. You've done it before."
"It was different then," he argued weakly. "I had... hope."
"And you can have it again," I insisted. "I don't know why you and Olivia drifted apart, or what really happened with Emily. But I do know this—Emily walked away when you needed her most. That says more about her than it does about you."
He looked at me, truly looked at me for what felt like the first time that night. "Why are you here, Aishweriya? Really?"
"Because I care about you," I said simply. "Because in those few meetings we had, I saw someone who was passionate about life, who had dreams and opinions and fire. And somewhere along the way, you stopped believing in yourself."
He swallowed hard. "And what if I can't find that person again?"
"Then you keep trying," I said firmly. "One day at a time. With people who won't walk away when it gets hard."
"Like who?" he asked, a hint of bitterness creeping back into his voice. "Olivia and Sebastian have their own life. You have Aaron. Emily... well, she's Emily."
"Like me," I said without hesitation. "As a friend, Carter. A real friend who wants to see you well again. Like Olivia and Sebastian, who called me because they're desperate to help you.
"I'm scared," he admitted, the words barely audible. "What if I can't do this? What if I fail again?"
"Then you try again," I said simply. "As many times as it takes. And you don't have to do it alone."
"So what—we'll be friends?" he asked, a hint of his old self showing through the pain. "You'll check in on me between cake tastings and tuxedo fittings?"
I smiled slightly. "If that's what it takes. We can be friends, Carter. Real friends who support each other."
He nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'd like that. I could use a friend who isn't..."
"Who isn't what?" I prompted when he trailed off.
"Who isn't trying to pull me back into old patterns," he finished. "Emily... she says she's helping, but every time she's around, I end up like this." He gestured to the mess around us.
"Then maybe it's time to set some boundaries," I suggested gently. "With Emily. With everyone who doesn't support your recovery."
He looked around at the mess, at the broken dishes on the floor, the scattered pills, the empty bottles. "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"
"Nothing that can't be cleaned up," I said, my voice steady and sure. "Nothing that can't be rebuilt."
"Friends, then?" he asked, extending a slightly trembling hand.
I took it without hesitation. "Friends."
And for the first time that night, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes that looked remarkably like hope.