"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.

As I toweled off from the shower, the sound of my phone vibrating echoed through the bathroom. I wrapped myself in a robe and glanced at the screen. It was my mother. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up.

"Hello, Ma?" I answered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Tanvi, beta," she began softly, but I could sense the underlying urgency in her tone. "Your father and I need to talk to you. Can you come over today?"

I sighed. I had already planned on visiting them, but the way she spoke made my stomach tighten with anxiety. My parents rarely summoned me like this unless something serious was happening.

"I was planning to come over anyway," I replied, trying to sound casual despite the growing apprehension in my chest.

"Good," she said, her voice softening. "We'll be waiting for you."

I hung up, my heart already heavy. What could they want to talk about?

After dressing in something simple but presentable, I grabbed my bag and left the penthouse. The drive to my parents' house was agonizingly slow, as if the universe knew I was dreading the conversation and wanted to draw it out. My mind kept drifting back to the flowers, to the handwritten note. Who was A.R.J.? And why did they care so much?

When I finally arrived at my parents' house, I braced myself. I stepped out of the car, and before I could ring the doorbell, the door swung open, revealing my father. His face was weary, his once commanding presence diminished slightly by age and, perhaps, concern.

"Tanvi," he said, his voice deep but filled with warmth. "Come in."

I walked in, feeling the familiar scent of home, a mixture of sandalwood and my mother's cooking. It should have been comforting, but today it felt heavy, suffocating almost.

I entered the living room where my mother was already seated, her hands folded in her lap. She looked at me with the same worry she had worn since my divorce. I hated that I had become a source of such pain for them.

"Sit," my father gestured, his tone uncharacteristically soft. I took a seat on the couch, trying to brace myself for whatever they had to say.

There was a moment of silence, one that stretched on far too long. My father finally spoke.

"Tanvi...your mother and I have been talking, and we think it's time you get back on your feet." His words were gentle but firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

"I am on my feet," I countered, though even I didn't believe it. My voice was thin, fragile.

"No, beta," my mother interjected, her voice soft but insistent. "You've been surviving, not living. And we can't stand to see you like this anymore."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump that formed in my throat. I hated feeling weak in front of them, hated the fact that they were right. But I couldn't say anything, so I just sat there, staring at my hands in my lap.

My father leaned forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and determination. "You need a fresh start, Tanvi. Something to help you focus. You're young, smart, and capable. I want you to take over the business."

My head snapped up, meeting his gaze. "What?" I breathed, disbelief flooding my senses. This...this was not what I expected.

"The business," he repeated. "I'm getting older, and I want you to take it over. I need someone I can trust, someone who can carry it forward. You always had a good head for it. This could be the fresh start you need."

I blinked, trying to process his words. My father had built his empire from the ground up, a conglomerate of real estate and manufacturing. I had grown up around board meetings and business deals, but I had never seriously considered stepping into his shoes. I had always been content to carve out my own path-until my marriage fell apart, that is.

"You...you want me to take over the business?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around it.

"Yes," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "It's time."

I looked between him and my mother. She was nodding, her expression one of encouragement.

"We think this could help you move on," she said softly. "Give you a sense of purpose again."

I didn't know what to say. I felt a strange mix of emotions-fear, doubt, and an odd sense of...relief? As if they had just given me a way out of the endless pit I had been stuck in for months.

"I don't know if I can..." I started, but my father interrupted me.

"You can," he said firmly. "You've always been stronger than you think, Tanvi. You just lost sight of that. This is your chance to find it again."

His words hit me harder than I expected. Maybe they were right. Maybe I had been lost for too long, clinging to the past, drowning in my pain. Maybe this was what I needed-a fresh start, something to focus on besides my own misery.

I took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Okay," I whispered, feeling the weight of the decision sink in.

My mother smiled softly, her eyes glistening with tears of relief. My father stood up, clapping me gently on the shoulder.

"We'll start slow," he said, his voice filled with pride. "But you'll get there, Tanvi. I know you will."

I nodded again, still feeling overwhelmed but...strangely hopeful. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was my way forward.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt the tiniest flicker of possibility.