..Out of the Blue ..💙

35.perfection is a curse

Monica's POV

"I am attracted to her."
“See? Not that hard to admit,” Beth answered.

What do I do next?*
What do you want, Monica?*

For a moment, I was blank.
What *do* I want?

It was such a simple question, one that I always used to have an answer to.
If you'd asked the old Monica Mittal, or even Monica Mittal from a few years ago, she’d have had a full answer—complete with a schedule.
With Rishi, I had plans from the moment he proposed. I *knew* he would propose, so there were no surprises. Then came the marriage, the kid—everything lined up perfectly, predictably.
But now?

I’m blank.
These feelings—for *her*—are new, uncharted.

“I think I need some time,” I said finally, calculated, because saying “I don’t know” would have made me feel too exposed. Elizabeth nodded in understanding.

“While you figure yourself out, never hurt her, Monica.”

This time, I understood what she meant.

Am I capable of hurting Zoya?
What does *she* even think of *me*?
I don’t know what’s going on in her head or heart. She tried talking to me, and I brushed it off. Maybe it’s time I own up to that.

After a deep breath, I asked, “Do we need to talk?”
Should I be direct and ask her what this all means?

Elizabeth smirked, shaking her head. “Oh God, Monica. You're so naive. So direct. Try being a bit romantic, go with the flow. Not everything’s a business deal.”

“But this is how I work, Beth.”

“Then let it change. Why does it have to be perfect?”

“Perfection is *everything*. And perfection gives you power.”

“You can be perfect in everything, Monica—even in romance.”

“Are you suggesting I act like a character from a romance novel? Romance is my least favorite genre.”
Jesus.
“Have you ever heard of the word *love*, Monica?”
“Yeah, I know it.”

“Have you ever *loved* someone?”

“Yes. Athena. My mom. My family. My son. Rishi too.”

“You *know* that’s not what I meant.
meant love—with sex.”

“Of course. I told you—Rishi.”

“Monica. It’s not ‘love with sex’, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t see anything special in it, Beth. It’s just… the same.”

She rubbed her forehead, like I had just insulted every neuron in her brain.

“You just don’t get it because you’ve never been in it. Love isn’t predictable or calculated. It’s not defined in quantities or measured by physical pleasure. It’s more.

“It’s when you feel everything for that person. You absorb their pain, their joy, their storms. It hurts—deeply—and yet, you can’t leave. You can’t forget. It's not just sex. You could sleep with a hundred people and still feel empty because the one you loved isn’t there. And that? That’s torture.”

Her voice cracked near the end. I saw it—her eyes glossy. Elizabeth, always confident and outgoing, was visibly shaken. Someone had broken her. Someone she buried.

I didn’t ask. I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to become a therapist to my therapist.

“It’s okay, Beth,” I said quietly. “I think I understand. But… I don’t know if I’m at that stage with Zoya. I don’t think it’ll turn into that. Because I won’t allow it.”