Mia
The morning air was crisp as Mia jogged along the roadside, earbuds in, bass-heavy music thudding in her ears. Her ponytail bounced with every stride, sweat glistening on her toned arms under the golden sunrise. This was her therapy—just her, the road, and the rhythm.
Behind her, someone called out, "Mia! MIA!"
She didn't hear a thing.
A moment later, a gentle tap on her side pulled her out of her zone. She yanked out one earbud, annoyed.
"Ugh, please yaar, don't start lecturing me," she said, breathless but defensive.
Her friend chuckled. "Lecture? I came to say well done. What you did at the gym yesterday? Damn, you're strong. I respect that."
Mia gave a half-smile, still skeptical. "You're joking, right? I'm really not in the mood."
"I'm serious. I've got a client—very high-end, like serious money. Usually rejects trainers just for fun. But she saw you. Asked if you'd be open to PT work."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "PT? Or PA? These types don't want trainers, they want someone to fetch their smoothies and babysit their egos."
He laughed. "Maybe. But the pay's insane. You'd travel a lot, live large. Your whole life could change."
Now that got her attention. "So? Give me her number."
He smirked. "Nah. She's private. I'll send your number to her team. If they want you, they'll reach out."
Mia narrowed her eyes with a teasing smile. "You don't look like a good guy... but you kind of are."
"Are you complimenting me or bullying me?"
"Both. You love the torture. That's why you keep coming back."
They broke into a light run again, side by side, the road ahead wide open.
Emily
The scent of fresh coffee trailed behind Emily as she pushed open her office door with one hand, balancing the steaming cup in the other. Her stilettos clicked on the floor like punctuation marks.
Without glancing up, she said sharply, "Rosa, where's the deposition?"
Silence.
She turned. Her junior associate stared at her, confused.
Emily frowned. "Did you not hear me? I asked about the deposition."
The girl blinked. "Ma'am? Me?"
"Yes, obviously."
"Uh... Ma'am, I'm Geneliya."
Emily paused, face flushing slightly. "Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry… Rosa was my last associate. Just a mix-up."
But it wasn't just a mix-up. Rosa—her ex-husband's wife. A name she wasn't supposed to be carrying around in her head anymore. Yet, here it was, slipping out in front of everyone like a ghost with no shame.
"Can I have the deposition, please?" she asked, regaining composure.
Geneliya handed over the file. "Of course, ma'am."
Emily nodded, took the folder, and retreated to her desk. She sipped her coffee, hiding behind the mug. A part of her wanted to laugh it off. Another part wanted to scream.
She stared at the screen, trying to drown Rosa's name in the clicking of her keyboard.
Shanaya
The fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzed faintly overhead. Shanaya sat on the edge of the exam bed, legs crossed, her phone in her lap, and a practiced smirk on her lips. Her gynecologist reviewed her chart calmly.
"Two weeks late," Shanaya said, trying to sound casual. "My period's late. Again. But don't worry—I'm not pregnant. Unless it's some mad, cosmic, Jesus-walks-on-water kind of conception."
The doctor looked up and smiled gently. "You're not pregnant."
"Thank God." Shanaya sighed. "I like babies, don't get me wrong. They're cute. Chubby cheeks. But I hate how everyone expects us to be maternal, like it's mandatory."
The doctor tilted her head thoughtfully. "Mind if I ask something… personal?"
Shanaya leaned back. "Sure."
"When did you first start showing signs of compulsive behavior? Or heightened emotional sensitivity?"
Shanaya's smile faded.
Her mind slipped back in time—blurry flashes of childhood: whispered arguments, her mother crying, her father calling her "too much." Too emotional. Too dramatic. Too everything.
"I don't know," she said quietly.
The doctor didn't push.
After a pause, she said softly, "I'm going to recommend a therapist."
Shanaya straightened, scoffing. "A therapist? A shrink? Please. I don't shrink. It's not my brain that's messed up—it's my hormones. My goddamn vagina needs adjusting, not my head."
The doctor raised an eyebrow, calm. "Your vagina is fine. In fact, it's perfect."
Shanaya blinked. Her emotions caught between offended and flattered.
"That might be the best compliment I've had this year," she muttered.
She stood up slowly, the smirk returning, but her eyes flickered with something deeper.
"Thanks, Doc. I'll… think about the therapist."
She left, the door closing behind her. But the echoes from her past followed quietly.
Alicia's Date
Alicia sat across from her date in a fancy hotel restaurant. Tight dress, glass of wine in her hand, legs crossed, face unreadable. The guy—Rishi—was already mid-monologue.
He raised his glass. "Alicia, listen… Every time I go home, my parents line up these eligible girls. But none of them get me. I need someone who understands who I really am—where I came from, where I'm going. You get me?"
Alicia didn't answer. She took a slow sip of wine, clearly not into it.
After dinner, they went for a drive. Rishi was still trying to impress. Alicia looked out the window, quiet.
"You know," she said finally, "when I was a kid, I loved sticking my head out of the sunroof at night."
Rishi perked up. "Driver, open the sunroof."
Alicia looked at him, surprised. "Really?"
The roof slid open. She stood up halfway, letting the wind whip through her hair. She felt something she hadn't in a while—free. Alive.
Rishi wasn't looking at the sky. He was staring at her legs. Then her feet.
"Your feet are so beautiful," he said.
She ignored him.
Then he reached out, touched her leg, then her foot.
"If there was a dating app for feet," he whispered, "I'd swipe right on yours every time."
And then—he licked her foot.
Alicia jerked her leg back. Reflex.
Her heel smashed right into his nose.
"FUCK!" he yelled. "You broke my nose!"
Blood spilled. Alicia panicked. She dug into her bag and pulled out the only thing she had—an unused pad.
"Here! Use this!" she said, handing it to him.
He looked horrified. "A pad?! Are you serious?!"
"It's clean!" she shouted back.
"Driver, stop the car!" he screamed.
The car stopped.
"Get out!" he snapped.
"You're kicking me out?" she asked.
"GET OUT!"
Alicia stepped out onto the roadside, heels clicking against the pavement. The car sped off into the night.
She looked around. No one. Just darkness and stars.
She slipped off her heels and started walking barefoot down the road.
"Fucking disaster," she muttered.