Page 33 of Christmas On Call
“You don’t mean that,” Max said, but there was doubt in her voice now, uncertainty where there had been conviction.
Asha looked at her—really looked at her. Max stood by the door in her worn jeans and faded T-shirt, eyes red-rimmed, face etched with hurt and exhaustion and something that looked like the death of hope. The woman she loved. The woman who’d made her laugh and feel safe and imagine a future beyond sterile hallways and perfect evaluations.
She should say,I don’t mean it. I love you. I’m just scared.
She should cross the room and hold her and promise to file the disclosure tomorrow, to face the whispers and the scrutiny together. Grab her and pull her close. Kiss her like it’s the first time. Throw her onto her bed and show how sorry she is.
But the panic was so big, drowning out everything else, and all Asha could hear was the voice in her head saying,You’re going to lose everything. You’re going to lose everything.
“I don’t know what I mean anymore,” Asha whispered instead.
Max’s face crumpled, then hardened. She pulled on her jacket with sharp, angry movements. “If you want to end this, you’re going to have to say it clearly. Not maybe. NotI don’t know. If you want me gone, you have to actually say the words.”
Asha opened her mouth. The words were right there, four small words that would make everything simpler:I want to end this.
But she couldn’t say them. Because despite the panic, despite the fear, despite every instinct screaming at her to retreat and protect and rebuild her walls—she didn’t want Max gone.
She just didn’t know how to want her and keep herself at the same time.
Max reached for the door handle, paused. “When you figure out what you want—really want, not what you think you’re supposed to want—you know where to find me. But I’m done waiting while you decide if loving me is worth the cost.”
“Max, wait.” Asha’s voice cracked on the name.
Max turned back, and her expression was soft and sad and final. “I hope you choose yourself, Asha. Not your reputation or your parents’ expectations or some perfect image that doesn’t exist. Just yourself. The real you. The one I fell in love with.”
She opened the door.
“But I can’t be there while you figure it out,” Max finished quietly.
Then she was gone, the door closing with a soft click that somehow felt louder than any slam.
Asha stood frozen in her living room, staring at the closed door, her apartment suddenly cavernous and silent. The controlshe’d fought so hard to maintain had completely disintegrated, leaving her hollow and shaking.
She sank onto the couch and finally let herself break.
The sobs came from somewhere deep and ancient, a place she’d locked away years ago when she learned that crying didn’t change anything, that emotions were liabilities, that perfect was the only acceptable option. She cried for the little girl who’d made a Christmas card that no one saw. For the teenager who’d learned to excel instead of connect. For the woman she’d become—brilliant and accomplished and so desperately alone.
And she cried for Max, who’d loved her anyway, who’d seen past all the walls and armor to something worth fighting for, and who Asha had just pushed away because she was too scared to fight back.
Her phone sat on the coffee table, dark and silent. Her laptop was open on the kitchen counter, the relationship disclosure form pulled up in a browser tab, cursor blinking in an empty signature field.
Six days left.
Six days to decide: the carefully constructed, perfect life she’d spent thirty-four years building, or the messy, terrifying, real love she’d found in the most unlikely place.
Right now, curled up alone in the dark, surrounded by her immaculate furniture and sterile order, Asha had no idea which one she’d choose.
All she knew was that her apartment had never felt emptier, her life had never felt smaller, and the one person who’d made her feel truly seen had just walked out the door.
And she’d let her go.
The city lights blinked through her windows, indifferent and distant. Asha pulled a blanket over herself and stared at the ceiling, tears drying on her face, the weight of her choices pressing down like gravity.
Somewhere out there, Max was driving home with a broken heart, believing that Asha valued her reputation more than their love.
And the worst part was, Asha wasn’t sure she’d proven her wrong.
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