sharmisthra_sharmi

Zara joined the peer counselor training program to help others heal from the pain she hides so well. Ari was forced into it by his therapist~~another thing he resents about the world. She's the quiet storm who believes in meaning; he's the sarcastic mess who believes in nothing. They clash from the start, their arguments as sharp as the secrets they both refuse to share.
But behind the tension lies something unspoken. Shared pain. Shared survival.
When they're forced to partner in the program, their fake exercise begin to hit too close to real. Slowly, behind every insult and every tare. their broken pieces start to recognize each other.
This isn't a love story about being saved. It's about two people who never meant to fall for each other~~but somehow, accidentally, dared to heal.

How Dare You Heal Me

Zara had a rule: Never get involved with damaged people. Especially not the ones who look good when they're angry.

It happened on a Friday, right after group therapy.

The air was thick with things left unsaid. Miss Liyana had wrapped up the session by asking them to write forgiveness letters~~to the people who hurt them the most.

Zara had stared at the blank paper like it owed her an apology.

She found him later behind the center, leaning against the brick wall, knuckles red and split like he'd punched something harder than wood.

"Are you seriously bleeding?" she asked.

He didn't look up. "What do you want, Zara?"

He exhaled sharply. "It's just a wall."

"Yeah, and your fist isn't made of titanium, dumb."

She knelt beside him and, despite his resistance, gently took his hand. Her fingers were cold, careful. She had a tissue in he jacket and dabbed he blood. He winced.

"I'm not." She looked up at him. "I just hat the idea of your bruises getting infected and turning your hand into some horror movie prop.'

They sat there in silence, back against the wall, shadows inching longer as the sun began to dip behind the trees.

Zara finally said, "Who was it for?"

"The forgiveness letter you didn't write."

She nodded. "Let me guess. He left."

"No," Ari said. "He stayed. That was the problem."

"He yelled a lot," Ari continued. "Drank even more. Told me I'd never amount to anything. I stopped trying just to prove him right."

Then, softly: "I wish mine yelled."

"He just... went silent. Like I wasn't worth the noise."

She laughed bitterly. "I remember one birthday. I turned fifteen. He gave my brother a new phone and handed me... a used book. With a note that said 'stay smart' Not happy birthday. Not love you. Just... stay smart."

Ari didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

He just offered her his other hand.

That night, Ari showed up outside her dorm. No text. No warning.

"First aid kit," he said. "For the damage I didn't fix."

Zara blinked at him. "You came here to apologize?"

"No," he said. "I came here so I wouldn't have to."

Zara crossed her arms. "You don't think you owe me an apology?"

"I do," he said. "But if I say I'm sorry, you'll think I'm weak."

She snorted. "Then you're dumber than you look."

Just placed the first aid kit on the table and sat on the edge of her bed, eyes roaming the messy desk, the art stuck to her walls, the journal peeking out from her backpack.

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

Then: "Because when I bleed, I want your hands on the wound. And when I scream, I want your silence to hold me."

Zara swallowed. Her heart thundered.

"I know," he said. You're sharp. But even blades shine when the light hits right."

That night, he left without touching her.

But she didn't sleep awake, staring at the ceiling, repeating the words in her head like a secret spell:

> "Even blades shine when the lights hits right."

Zara wasn't used to people seeing her edge as something beautiful.

She didn't know what to do with that.

And this time, her journal wasn't angry.

Chapter 5: Bruised Knuckles, Soft Apologies