Some cities breathe with you.
Others breathe against you.
And then there are cities like this one — cities that remember.
Anaya felt it before she saw him.
It was an ordinary afternoon. The metro station smelled of rust, sweat, and damp concrete. She was coming home from a sketching session at the local shelter, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her earphones in — not playing music, just blocking the noise.
She was three steps from the platform when she froze.
There he was.
Same posture. Same jacket. Same arrogant slouch like the world owed him forgiveness just for showing up.
Her ex.
He hadn't changed much. Maybe a little thinner. His jaw more hollow. But that same tension in the shoulders — as if the whole world irritated him.
He didn't see her.
But that didn't matter.
She felt like the floor had been yanked from under her. Her breath came in tight little gasps. Her throat closed. Her knees threatened to buckle.
She turned and left the station before the train even arrived.
---
She didn't go home.
She sat on the steps of an old temple nearby. The kind she hadn't entered in years. Not for faith — just for space.
Her hands trembled.
She didn't cry. That would've been easier.
She just sat there, holding herself like a child lost in a crowd.
---
Aarav found her two hours later.
She hadn't texted. Hadn't called.
But he knew.
She wasn't at the shelter. Wasn't at the park. Wasn't at the art supply store. And she wasn't answering.
He checked the station.
And when he saw the temple across the road, his heart sank.
She looked so small sitting there — knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on them, eyes vacant.
He didn't say anything.
Just sat beside her.
And waited.
Ten minutes. Maybe more.
Then, quietly, she said, "I saw him."
He didn't ask who.
"I didn't even realize it at first. My body knew before my mind did. Everything inside me just… shut down."
Aarav's jaw tightened, but he didn't move.
"I wanted to scream. Or throw up. Or punch something. But I couldn't even breathe."
Still, he didn't say anything.
Because this wasn't about fixing her.
It was about witnessing her.
She finally looked at him.
"I thought I was past it."
"You're allowed to break," he said.
"I feel like I've gone back ten steps."
He shook his head. "You're here. That's progress."
She exhaled.
He reached out, gently placing his hand over hers.
"Come home?" he asked.
And she nodded.
---
She didn't talk the rest of the day.
She showered. Changed into his old sweatshirt. Curled under the blanket on the couch.
Aarav brought her tea. Didn't insist she drink it.
He just sat across the room, reading the same page of his book for over an hour, waiting for her breath to even out.
Later, when she finally fell asleep, he covered her with the extra blanket and turned off the lights.
That night, he wrote something he wouldn't show her — not yet.
> "Healing is not a straight line. It's a spiral staircase in the dark. Sometimes you trip. Sometimes you sit on a step for days. But if you're still moving — even if it's barely breathing — you're climbing."
---
In the following days, Anaya was quiet.
But not withdrawn.
She started journaling.
She walked slower. Sat in the sunlight more. Talked to Diya twice — nothing deep, just small pieces of ordinary.
She asked Aarav if they could rearrange the apartment.
"I want it to feel different," she said. "Like this space isn't just about surviving anymore."
He agreed.
They moved the couch. Added a second bookshelf. Bought cheap fairy lights and plants with names they made up — "Leafy," "Captain Root," and "Drama Queen."
One evening, she stood back, arms crossed, and said, "This doesn't look like a trauma shelter anymore."
Aarav smiled. "It looks like home."
---
That night, she kissed him.
Not a slow, nervous kiss. Not a desperate one either.
Just… steady.
Present.
Like she meant it.
When she pulled back, her voice was hoarse.
"I used to think I'd never let anyone touch me again. That my body was a battlefield."
He touched her cheek. "It's not."
"It's mine," she said. "For the first time."
And he held her.
Not to protect her.
But to celebrate her.
---
Two weeks later, she got a call from the metro authorities.
Apparently, a complaint had been filed anonymously against her ex — someone had seen him harassing a woman recently and flagged his name.
She didn't know what to feel.
A part of her wanted revenge. Another part wanted closure. But mostly… she wanted peace.
"I don't want to report him," she told Aarav. "Not because I'm afraid. But because I want to spend my energy building something, not burning something."
"That's strength," he said.
She shook her head. "No. It's choice. And I finally get to have one."