The city was loud — honking, buzzing, alive — but Adhira's world stayed muted, like someone had pressed pause inside her chest.
In the mirror, her reflection looked nothing like the girl on her feed. Puffy eyes. Cracked lips. Yesterday's eyeliner smeared like bruises.
Her phone buzzed nonstop.
Lavanya: Girl, are you okay? That scene last night went viral.
Someone: #AdhiraBreakdown is trending.
Manager: Call me ASAP. Damage control.
Her heartbreak had gone public. The internet was already feasting on it.
Adhira turned the phone face-down and walked away.
By noon, she was at Dr. Shivay's door again — no appointment, just a quiet knock.
He looked up, calm as ever. "You came back."
"I didn't know where else to go," she said, voice small.
He gestured toward the couch. "Then this is exactly where you need to be."
She sat cross-legged, hugging her knees. The silence between them felt heavy but safe.
"They didn't even look sorry," she whispered after a while.
"Which part hurt more?" he asked. "That they betrayed you… or that they seemed fine after?"
Her throat tightened. "That they were happy. Like I was the only one drowning."
He nodded slowly. "Grief convinces us we're alone in the wreckage. But you're not."
She stared at her hands. "I wish I'd handled it better. Not lost control in front of everyone."
"You didn't break," he said quietly. "You reacted. That's not weakness, Adhira — that's proof you cared."
She met his eyes, and for the first time in days, she felt grounded.
When she stood to leave, Shivay said, "Don't disappear just because they did."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Post what's real. Not what's perfect. Pain can connect, if you let it."
A tired smile ghosted across her lips. "That's risky advice for a therapist."
He smiled back. "Sometimes healing is."
That night, Adhira sat on her bed, fingers trembling over her phone.
Then she typed:
> Not every fall needs to be hidden. Some teach you how to land softer next time.
She hit "post." No filters. No hashtags. No angles. Just truth.
Minutes later, her screen filled with quiet empathy — strangers saying "Me too."
And for the first time since the rooftop, Adhira didn't feel like she was drowning.
Across town, Dr. Shivay saw the post.
He smiled faintly — not as her therapist, but as someone quietly proud.
The world had moved again.
And this time, Adhira was moving with it.