MK left the office early.
The decision had been made long before she stood up from her desk, but when she finally did, it felt like a release she hadn't realized she needed. It was Friday. The building was still alive with movement and chatter, but her mind had already slipped away from it all.
The week had swallowed her whole.
She had told herself every day that she would look for Shriya—tomorrow, tonight, later. And every night, exhaustion won. The kind that left her staring at the ceiling, phone in hand, unread messages burning her eyes until sleep claimed her first.
So she postponed it.
The weekend, she had promised herself. I'll find her then.
That promise began now.
MK didn't turn toward her own apartment. The car carried her somewhere familiar, guided by muscle memory and longing rather than logic. When she finally parked outside Shriya's building, she stayed seated for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Her chest felt tight.
Please be okay, she thought. Please be here.
The apartment greeted her with silence.
It wasn't an empty silence—it was controlled, intentional. Shriya's presence lingered in every detail. MK moved slowly, almost reverently, as though disturbing the space might erase something precious.
Shriya's room was neat to the point of precision. Nothing was out of place. Books were aligned perfectly. Files stacked by category. Papers arranged with care. MK recognized it instantly—this wasn't tidiness, it was discipline.
She opened drawers gently, scanning without truly searching.
Photographs caught her eye: men in uniform, unfamiliar faces frozen in moments MK had never been invited into. There was a life here she didn't fully know. One Shriya rarely spoke about.
In the bottom drawer, MK paused.
Metal. Weight. Purpose.
She closed it quietly.
A safe sat tucked away in the corner. MK stopped in front of it. She knew the password. Her fingers twitched with the impulse to open it—but she didn't.
She already knew what it held.
Knowing that was enough.
The apartment was small: a living room, a compact kitchen, a bedroom. Smaller than MK's place. More contained. Like Shriya herself—structured, guarded, precise.
And yet, empty.
MK sank onto the couch, exhaustion finally claiming her. Her head fell back as her thoughts rushed in uninvited.
Where are you, Shrii?
Are you safe?
Why didn't you tell me?
Her throat tightened.
I miss you.
She didn't realize she had spoken the words aloud until the sound of keys snapped her out of her thoughts.
The lock turned.
MK froze.
The door opened, and Shriya stepped inside.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped.
She wore black—something close to a military suit. Sharp lines. Controlled posture. Her presence filled the room in a way MK hadn't realized she'd been craving.
MK didn't think.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her, holding on as if letting go might break something irreparable.
Shriya stiffened.
She hadn't expected this. MK wasn't supposed to be here. Tonight was supposed to be quiet. Controlled. Alone.
"You're here," MK breathed, relief flooding her voice.
Shriya swallowed. Her hands remained at her sides.
"Why are you here?" she asked, though the answer terrified her.
"I was looking for you," MK said quickly. "You disappeared. Where have you been? I missed you."
She clung tighter.
I missed you too.
The thought hit Shriya hard, sharp and unwelcome. But she didn't say it. She couldn't.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Tomorrow, she would end things. Gently. Carefully. She had rehearsed the words, softened the edges. Tonight was supposed to be for preparation—to remind herself why she had to do this.
But now MK was here.
Warm. Real. Trusting.
Don't, she warned herself. Don't make this harder.
"MK," she said quietly.
"Yes, Shrii?" MK looked up, her eyes open and hopeful.
Their gazes locked.
That was when Shriya knew she was already losing.
She turned away, needing distance, needing air—but MK reached for her face without asking, grounding her there.
The kiss came softly.
Too softly.
This is a mistake, Shriya thought, even as her body betrayed her.
This is the last time.
That realization shattered her restraint.
She pulled MK closer, kissing her back with a desperation that startled even herself. This wasn't hunger—it was fear. Fear of forgetting. Fear of leaving without enough memory to survive it.
Remember her, she told herself.
Remember everything.
She memorized the way MK responded, the way she trusted without question, the way she surrendered without hesitation. MK wasn't holding back. She wasn't protecting herself.
She felt safe.
That knowledge burned.
Shriya guided her toward the bedroom, movements familiar yet heavy with intent. She stayed close, never letting go—not even for a moment.
This wasn't about possession.
It was about imprinting.
If I have to leave, she thought, then I'll carry you with me.
She traced MK's reactions carefully, not for control, but for memory. Every breath. Every sound. Every moment of lost restraint. She wanted the blueprint—not just of MK's body, but of the way she trusted her with it.
MK lost herself completely.
She didn't think. She didn't hesitate. She didn't guard her reactions or restrain her voice. She let herself be held, guided, undone.
It embarrassed her—but she didn't stop.
She didn't want to.
This was safety. This was love. This was home.
"I—" MK tried to speak at one point, but the words dissolved before they could form. Sensation drowned thought, and she let it.
Shriya didn't stop her. She couldn't.
This is cruel, she thought dimly.
But I need this.
The night stretched on, unmeasured by time. When it finally faded, MK slept deeply—dreamless, peaceful. Her face softened in rest, a faint smile lingering as though her body still remembered the warmth.
Shriya watched her.
She looked happy.
That should have filled her with joy.
Instead, it hollowed her out.
She sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders heavy with the weight of what she was about to do. Slowly, carefully, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to MK's cheek.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
A tear slipped free and landed on MK's skin.
Shriya reached for MK's phone. She unlocked it easily—their shared password unchanged. The wallpaper stared back at her: the two of them together, smiling, unaware.
She typed a message.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Finally, she sent one.
Then erased the conversation entirely.
She locked the phone, set it back gently, and left the apartment without looking back.
The night welcomed her with cold air and quiet streets. Shriya walked without direction, without awareness of time. Streetlights passed like memories she couldn't hold onto.
Somewhere, a dog barked.
She didn't hear it.
She was crying—but she didn't realize when it had started.
All she knew was that she would give anything not to hurt MK.
And that some choices didn't allow mercy.