The Unbridled

Chapter 4- A fractured heart

Did he have to stoop this low? After everything he knew about Ayra’s insecurities, after witnessing her at her worst, Zarun still chose to dismiss her. And not gently, not subtly, but with a calculated coldness. The kind of cruelty that cuts deeper than anger.

Her heart ached as if it had been yanked out of her chest. Her vision blurred with tears, her stomach clenched painfully, and a gasp escaped her mouth. The room, still heavy with the scent of Zarun’s cologne, now suffocated her. She staggered out slowly, not wanting to fall apart in his space. Not here.

Anxiety.

Her chest tightened as flashes of her past collided violently with the present. Words, harsh, cruel, echoed through her mind. She could feel her heart pounding furiously, trying to protect itself from the pain of familiarity.

“You’re a child.”

“You’re desperate.”

“You feel too much.”

Different lips, but the same words. The same venom.

The same betrayal.

She pulled her phone out with trembling fingers and called her brother’s fiancée, Ayden.

“Are you still around?”

“Yeah, I’m at the mart. Want me to pick you up?”

“Yes,” Ayra whispered, barely holding her voice together. “Please.”

Ayden was one of the kindest people Ayra had met. She was deeply in love with Zayn, Ayra’s elder brother, and they’d been together since high school. Soon to be married, they shared a bond that Ayra had always admired. With Ayden, there was no judgment, only safety, comfort, and understanding.

Ayden knew Ayra was getting therapy sessions with Zarun. She lived nearby and would often pick her up when Ayra needed someone around. Ayra had done this before, calling Ayden in moments of vulnerability, and Ayden had never let her down.

This time, Ayden stopped by a café and picked up a coffee and Ayra’s favourite cookie. When she spotted Ayra sitting on a bench, she knew something was wrong. Ayra looked small, not just in size, but in energy. Her usual spark, that confident edge, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, are you good?” Ayden asked softly.

Ayra didn’t reply at first. She simply stepped into the car, gave a faint smile, and accepted the coffee. “Thanks, Ayden.”

They drove in silence.

Ayra clutched the coffee but didn’t sip. She wasn’t present; her mind was spinning with Zarun’s voice, his expression, his deliberate dismissal. But more than that, the storm inside her had awakened something darker, older.

Abram.

Even the name made her flinch.

It had been three years of chaos. She had met him at seventeen, back at university. He was charming, confident, and wildly admired. Ayra, still naive, fell hard and fast. And why wouldn’t she? Abram had a magnetic pull, the kind of presence that turned heads.

But he was also cruel. Emotionally manipulative. Disloyal.

In public, he’d drape an arm over her shoulder. In private, he’d belittle her. Call her “clingy,” “too emotional,” “desperate.” He’d compare her to other girls, those who dressed bolder, spoke flirtatiously, and behaved with less restraint.

He wanted Ayra, but not her boundaries. She had made it clear from the start: she believed in emotional intimacy before physical. She was saving herself, for the right person, for marriage, for something meaningful. He said he understood. He even pretended to respect her decision.

But soon, he started pressing.

At first, small comments. Then pressure. Then frustration.

When she resisted, he grew distant. Cold. He began seeing other girls, claiming they were “just friends,” but Ayra knew better. She had seen the signs. Heard the rumours. Witnessed the flirting.

Still, she stayed. Because love is foolish like that.

Until it broke her.

When Abram called her “asexual” for not giving in to his needs, it shattered something inside her. When he said, “You’re too small for this world,” she stopped recognising herself in the mirror.

Eventually, she left. It took everything in her to do so. But she walked away.

She thought she had healed.

But Zarun’s words, intentional or not, had opened the same wounds. The same ones she had spent years stitching up.

Ayden glanced at her, concerned. “Ayra?”

Ayra blinked back to the present. “Hmm?”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Not right now.” Her voice was soft but firm.

Ayden nodded, understanding.

Once home, Ayra walked straight to her room and collapsed onto her bed. The surrounding silence was loud. Her phone buzzed. A message from Kia, her best friend.

Kia: “Hey! Just checking in. You okay? You seemed off earlier.”

Ayra replied with a simple:

Ayra: “Can’t talk. Just need space.”

She locked her phone and let it drop to the floor.

The ceiling stared back at her, dark and blank. Her tears fell quietly, soaking the pillow. She felt like she had regressed. All her progress, all her growth, suddenly felt pointless.

How could Zarun, of all people, say those things to her?

He was supposed to understand. He had read her therapy notes. He had listened to her cry during those early sessions. He had comforted her when she told him about Abram. He had assured her she was brave. That she was not broken.

And now, this?

Had he been pretending?

Or was this some cruel attempt to push her away?

Maybe that’s what hurt the most. That it wasn’t a stranger hurting her, it was him.

Zarun Bram.

Her father's friend. Her therapist. Her mentor. Her secret crush. A man who had always seemed composed, controlled, and kind. She had grown up seeing him as a protector, a distant anchor. But somewhere along the way, admiration blurred into something else.

She had started noticing the way he furrowed his brows when reading. The way he rolled up his sleeves. The rare smiles. The thoughtful silences. It had taken months for her to realize it, but she had fallen for him.

And when she thought, just maybe, he had felt something too…

That illusion was shattered tonight.

She had misread him. Again. Just like she had misread Abram.

History repeats itself in the cruellest form.

Her chest tightened again. Another wave of anxiety gripped her. She sat up, breathing hard. She reached for her medicine, took a pill, and leaned back against the headboard.

She needed air. She needed clarity.

But most of all, she needed to not feel for a while.

As the room grew darker, Ayra realized something terrifying:

She didn’t just feel rejected.

She felt ashamed.

Ashamed for trying. Ashamed for hoping. Ashamed for trusting again.

How could she have been so foolish?

She wasn’t that girl anymore. She had promised herself that. But somehow, Zarun had slipped under her skin without warning. His words now felt like poison circulating through her veins.

Maybe it was time to step away.

Maybe therapy wasn’t the solution anymore, at least not with him.

She needed boundaries. She needed space. She needed to remind herself that she was more than this pain.

More than this, heartbreak.

And more than the label of being “too much.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, sat up straighter, and whispered to herself, “Never again.”