The morning after the highway run, the Defender looked strangely still in the police quarters parking lot. Dew clung to the hood like it was afraid to let go. Inside the apartment, Ranger had claimed the couch, a tiny bundle of fur and twitching legs lost in some puppy dream.
Pallavi was already gone—off to some meeting that probably involved more coffee than sense—leaving behind a single sticky note on the fridge:
Don't glare at people today.
—Pallu
Spandana smirked at that, shoved the note in her jacket pocket, and headed out. The hospital's psychiatry wing wasn't far, but she still walked like she was going to war.
Dr. Mitali Rao's office was so neat it was almost suspicious. Pens in a perfect row, files stacked like they'd been measured with a ruler. Mitali herself had that same kind of order about her—calm smile, eyes that saw too much.
"Good morning, Ms. Narayanadas. How are you feeling today?"
"Fine," Spandana said, dropping into the chair opposite her.
Mitali tilted her head. "Let's talk about yesterday. How do you see the society you serve—especially in light of your… intense responses to certain situations?"
Spandana's jaw twitched. "You make it sound like I'm reckless."
"I didn't say that. I want to know if your anger comes from injustice… or if it's just uncontrolled."
"My anger's for a reason," Spandana shot back. "I don't snap at people for sport. I hold it in until I can't—and yeah, sometimes that backfires."
"How?"
Her eyes darkened. "In ways that end with me sitting in your office."
"And why hold it in at all?"
"Because if I didn't, I'd be in jail. People love telling you to be calm while they step on you. I don't play along. I stay quiet until someone crosses a line. Then… I move."
Mitali tapped her pen, studying her. "That's a defensive way to live. Do you trust people?"
"No. Not with my safety, not with my feelings. I'm detached. Hyper-independent, if you need to write a term down. I've never waited for anyone to save me."
The clock ticked on the wall.
"Where do you think that comes from?"
A flicker crossed Spandana's face. She hesitated. Then—
Flashback:
It was a sticky summer afternoon. Nineteen-year-old you had just left cadet training, still sweating under the uniform, when Pallavi appeared down the street.
She was walking too fast, her shoulders locked tight. Her sleeve was ripped. Her hair was a mess. And there was a faint red mark on her jaw.
"Pallu?" you called, moving toward her.
She froze. Opened her mouth. Nothing came out—just a tiny, broken sound.
"What happened? Who did this?"
"It's fine," she said quickly. "I'm fine. I don't want to—"
"Don't give me that. Tell me."
Her eyes darted to the alley she'd come from. "Just some guy… I was walking past, he—" She stopped, swallowed.
That was all you needed. You turned to go, but her hand clamped around your wrist.
"Don't. Please. Just… let it go."
Something inside you shifted then. Not just because some man had touched her. But because you'd seen something in her eyes you'd never seen before—fear. And Pallavi didn't wear fear.
That night, you signed up for martial arts.
You trained until your knuckles bruised, until your body ached, until the strikes felt like breathing. You imagined him—the faceless man—every time you hit the bag.
Months later, it happened again. A drunk blocked your path after a late dosa run. His gaze stuck on Pallavi like gum on a shoe. He reached for her.
You caught his wrist before you even thought about it. Twist. Lock. His knees hit the ground before his curse left his mouth.
"Touch her again," you told him, voice low, "and you won't use this hand again."
He stumbled away. Pallavi looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time.
"You've been training," she said.
You just shrugged.
Something between you shifted that night. She was no longer just your friend—she was the reason you'd burn through every shred of control you had if someone tried to hurt her again.
Back in Mitali's office, the memory faded. You stared at your hands, remembering how steady they'd been.
"So your anger is protection," she said quietly.
"It's a shield," you replied. "And sometimes a sword. People call it dangerous because they don't like women who can defend themselves too well."
"You're not here because you can't control it," Mitali said finally. "You're here because the world can't control you. That scares them."
Spandana's mouth curved just a little. "Good."
She left the office lighter than she'd come in. Whether it was the talking or just knowing Pallavi and Ranger would be waiting—she didn't bother to figure out.