THE FRESH START

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"How is your life, Tanvi?" my therapist asked, her eyes keenly observing me for any hint of a reaction. I stared blankly, my face a mask devoid of emotion.

"Same," I replied mechanically, my voice flat and lifeless. She sighed softly, disappointment evident in her eyes.

"Look, dear," she began, her tone gentle yet firm, "to heal or overcome, you have to let go of things. If you don't try, you'll remain stuck like this forever."

I stayed silent, unwilling to engage. .

I sat in silence, staring at a spot on the floor, my mind a turbulent sea of thoughts and memories I couldn't articulate

She leaned forward slightly, her expression softening even more.

"Think about your parents," she continued, "how worried they are about you."

This time, her words struck a chord. I shifted my gaze to meet hers and gave a curt nod, which elicited a small, encouraging smile from her.

"Good," she said, her voice carrying a note of optimism. "Let's continue this in our next session. I want you to come prepared, and you have to try not just for yourself but for your parents as well."

She paused, her eyes searching mine for understanding. "Remember, Tanvi, life is all about letting go. Holding on to pain and sorrow only keeps you trapped. You deserve to be free from this burden."

I nodded again and exited from her office.

As I exited the building, my driver was already waiting for me. I gave him a brief nod before sliding into the car, my thoughts heavy.

The car began its journey toward my penthouse, a place I had chosen for its solitude. Convincing my parents to let me live alone had been difficult; their worry was palpable. Yet, I needed the distance, the quiet, the space to breathe.

I still couldn't understand why I felt so weak.

It had been almost six months since the divorce, yet the pain lingered within me. Meanwhile, that motherfucker was out partying and whoring.

AI sighed as the car halted in front of my building. I thanked the driver and stepped out, making my way to the penthouse. After typing in the password, I entered the quiet, familiar space.

At my doorstep, as usual, there was a bouquet waiting for me. I didn't know who was sending these flowers, but every day brought a new arrangement. Despite the mystery, they had become a small, comforting ritual in my otherwise turbulent life.

With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, I picked up the bouquet. Tucked within the flowers was a small, handwritten note:

Red Carnation

"My heart aches seeing you like this."
- A.R.J

I felt a strange warmth at the words. This unknown sender, whoever they were, seemed to understand my pain in a way that no one else did.

Carrying the bouquet inside, I carefully replaced the flowers from yesterday with today's arrangement, placing the new note on the jar alongside the others. This had been my routine for the past two months, a small act that brought a hint of brightness to my days.

Yes, for two months now, I had been receiving these mysterious bouquets. And every day, they gave me a momentary escape from my sorrow, a reminder that someone, somewhere, cared.

I decided to take a quick shower before heading over to my parents' house, as they wanted to discuss something important with me. Walking into the bathroom, I turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature, letting the warmth fill the space. Once it was just right, I stepped in, allowing the soothing water to cascade over me, washing away the day's tension.

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