Invisible String Of Love

Healing Doesn't Happen Overnight

After wrapping up her workout, Kaira—muscles aching, skin still humming with the aftershock of exertion—drifted toward a nearby bench. On the surface, she looked calm. But beneath that composure was the echo of a storm still brewing inside her.

She exhaled slowly and sank into the seat, her eyes glassing over as they locked onto something only she could see—a memory that haunted her like a ghost clinging to her shadow. It wasn’t just any memory. It was the night. The one she'd give anything to forget.

Two years ago, she’d been walking home from university, her brain fried from lectures and looming deadlines, when a car screeched to a stop beside her. Before she could scream, strange hands yanked her into the vehicle. When she came to, dizzy and terrified, she found herself in a plain-looking house. Through a narrow window, she caught sight of one of the men pacing outside—and a sleek black car idling by the curb. Normal on the outside. Sinister on the inside.

That was when it hit her—this wasn’t just a kidnapping. It was a trap, a gateway into the hellish underworld of human trafficking. But Kaira wasn’t made of glass. She didn’t break. She plotted. She waited. And then, like a ghost, she vanished into the night.

Now, back in the present, her thoughts were sliced clean by a tap on the shoulder.

“Hey, Kai, are you free tonight?” a voice asked. It was Thomas, his hand lifting away from her shoulder like he sensed he was intruding.

She flinched slightly. “No. Got plans,” she replied, grabbing her things without looking up.

“Tomorrow then?” Tom offered, still hopeful, helping her zip her gym bag.

“Sure, whatever,” she mumbled, snatching the bag from him and heading off, her frustration trailing behind her like smoke. Tom stood there, blinking, trying to make sense of the sudden frost.

She made her way to the parking lot where her bike waited. Ever since that night, cars had become cages in her mind.

Kaira mounted her bike and slipped into traffic. She was headed to her therapist’s office—her sanctuary. Those sessions didn’t erase the scars or stitch her trauma into neat little conclusions, but they helped her breathe. And right now, that was enough.

After locking up her bike nearby, Kaira slipped inside the building, headphones in, her music, her only protector. The lobby looked ordinary — a few chairs, posters about mental health peeling slightly at the edges. A person lounged on the couch, seemingly fine. But Kaira knew better. Everyone carried something. Some burdens you could see, most you couldn’t. It reminded her why kindness mattered.

She eased into the familiar chair across from her therapist, feeling his gaze settle on her even before she looked up. Though she couldn’t see it, she sensed the soft smile pulling at his lips.

“Good afternoon, Kaira,” he said, his voice warm, eyes gentle.

“Afternoon, Mr. Wren...”

He chuckled, reaching for his journal. “Come on now, I told you — just call me Clay.”

As she glanced around his office, her eyes wandered across shelves stacked with psychology books and abstract paintings that looked like feelings caught mid-scream. In the corner, a framed photo of Clay in his graduation cap caught her attention. He looked proud, but there was something off — a shadow behind his eyes, as if joy had been invited but never showed up.

Clearing his throat, Clay settled into his seat and softened his voice. “How are you feeling today?”

“Like shit. Still heavy. The nightmares haven’t let up — I wake up choking on air I didn’t realize I was holding.”

She paused, searching for the right words. “I tried what you said — found a quiet place, screamed till my throat gave out. Nothing has changed.”

Clay frowned slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped it might help… How’s the rest of your day been?”

“There’s this guy at the gym,” she said, tension knotting her voice. “He keeps asking me out, even though I’ve said no. I’ve been polite, but he doesn’t stop. And I’m scared…”

Her voice cracked. “I’m scared he might…”

Clay’s tone softened even further, “You’re afraid it might happen again. What happened before. That the past isn’t done with you.”

Kaira nodded, eyes glassy.

“That fear makes sense,” Clay said gently, jotting something down. “You’re not crazy for feeling this way. But can you tell me more? What is it about this man that scares you most?”

Kaira hesitated, her voice barely a whisper. “He looks like… like my kidnapper. But that shouldn’t matter, right? He’s nice to me. Kind.” She swallowed hard, a shaky laugh escaping as she trembled.

There was something about the man at the gym—something that ignited the old terror buried deep in her chest. He bore an eerie resemblance to her abductor. No matter how kind he seemed, how polite his smile, she couldn’t shake the unease. It clung to her like static, invisible but impossible to ignore.

“It does matter,” Clay said gently, yet firmly. “Your feelings matter. Your safety matters. That’s what we’re here to protect.” He fell quiet again, letting her feel emotions she carried.

Still, progress was slow. Understandably so. Healing isn’t a straight line—it’s a war with memory, a dance with ghosts. The past doesn’t just leave; it lingers, wearing a new face, hiding in familiar places, waiting to be seen.

After her session, Kaira stood slowly, still unable to meet his eyes. “Thank you… for today. For all the time,” she murmured, her voice low as she glanced up.

“It’s my job, Kaira. Take care,” Clay replied with a soft smile, watching her go with a feeling he couldn’t name — the weight of knowing he hadn’t done enough.

Outside the office, her gaze caught on someone waiting — quiet, but no less significant. They wore a short purple skirt, a snug blue top, and scuffed black Converse. Restless energy radiated from them, their thoughts clearly elsewhere. And yet, in that brief exchange of glances, something passed between them — an unspoken recognition. Shared ache.

“Do you think he’s really helping us?” Kaira asked, her voice barely above a whisper, raw with a hope she wasn’t sure she still believed in.

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A U T U M N G I R L W R I T E [2024]