Guys he is not even my boyfriend

The scent of coffee hung in the early morning air, a comforting constant in a world that was suddenly anything but. Janet was at the kitchen counter, humming to herself, when she heard the floorboards creak in the hallway. She looked up, her humming stopping, as her daughter emerged.

Elara moved with a stilted, careful gait, each step a deliberate effort. She was wearing old sweats and a frown that looked like it had been permanently etched on her face. She leaned against the doorframe, a hand going to her lower back.

Janet looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Well, look at you. Up with the sun,” she said. “I thought I was the only one in this house who saw this time of day.”

“I couldn’t sleep, Mom,” Elara replied, her voice a low groan.

Janet’s humming stopped. A flicker of familiar disapproval—and a fleeting glimmer of a chuckle—crossed her features. “You need to move on from Tad,” she said, her voice firm. “I never approved of the way you indulged him from the start. Unless you make peace with him, he’ll just keep coming back.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed. “What are you laughing at? This is not a laughing matter, lady.”

Janet’s smile faded, though the amusement remained in her eyes. "Maybe it is."

Daily Grind

Later that day, Elara was sitting in a quiet corner booth, her phone held to her ear. “Mom, I’m at the coffee shop,” she said, her voice a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

Her mom’s voice, a soft echo from the other end of the line, was calm. “Which one? The one near Mila’s studio?”

“Yeah,” Elara admitted, sighing. “The Daily Grind.”

“And you were there because you were supposed to help her close,” Janet finished for her.

“Exactly,” Elara said, looking out the window. "Clay works needs to be closed early on Thursdays. But I couldn't."

Elara hung up, her shoulders slumping in defeat. The conversation had only reinforced the problem, but talking to her mom had been a necessary release. She looked up just as Mila walked in, a woman whose calm demeanor and genuine smile were a constant comfort.

Mila nodded sympathetically as she approached the table. “So, Tad decided to make another appearance, did he?” she asked, a knowing look in her eyes. “I figured that was the case when you called. Don’t worry about the studio, everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Elara said, setting her cup down with a firm clack. The look on her face was a mixture of pure venom and total exasperation.

“A little protest?” Mila asked, taking a seat across from her. “You of all people should know how to deal with a little protest.”

“A little protest?” Elara scoffed. “This is a full-blown rebellion! I can’t even sit at the pottery wheel without him acting up. You would know.”

Elara set her cup down again. The look on her face was a mixture of pure venom and total exasperation.

“His deal? I’ll tell you his deal. He’s a pain in the—”

“Have you two had a chance to look at the menu?” a voice says cheerfully.

Elara’s mouth hangs open. She looks at the waiter, then at Mila, her sentence completely lost.

“I’m sorry,” Elara says, a sarcastic smile coming to her lips. “I think the ending of my sentence interrupted the beginning of yours.”

The waiter’s cheerful smile falters. He looks down at his notepad, a flush rising on his cheeks. “My apologies,” he mutters.

Elara’s shoulders slump. She looks at Mila and sighs, her anger deflating into a weary sense of defeat.

“It’s fine,” she says. “We’re ready.”

The Healer’s Session

The next day, Elara found herself in a quiet office that was a sanctuary of soft light and soothing scents. She sat stiffly in a plush armchair in the waiting room, surrounded by shelves lined with crystals, herbs, and books on spiritual wellness. Her gaze wandered over a few closed doors in the hall. One was labeled “Reiki,” another “Past Life Regression,” and her eyes settled on a door marked “Feng Shui.”

Elara cleared her throat, her voice a little stiff from her posture. “You have a room for Feng Shui?”

The woman at the desk, who introduced herself as Maya, looked up with a welcoming smile. “Yes, we do. Dr. Lena believes in an integrated approach. The modality is just the tool; the true work is understanding the energy. We have several experts from different practices who offer their services here.”

Maya leaned forward, her voice a gentle murmur. “The person who does the Feng Shui consultations is an absolute artist. She can look at a space and tell you exactly where the energy is blocked. It’s truly amazing to watch her work.”

Just then, a door opened. Dr. Lena, a woman with a calming presence and kind eyes, emerged.

“Elara?” she asked gently. “I’m ready for you now.”

The room was bathed in soft, filtered light, and a large, intricately carved wooden sculpture of a Tree of Life stood in one corner. Dr. Lena gestured for Elara to sit on a floor cushion. Elara did so with a great deal of slow, deliberate care.

Dr. Lena began, her voice a gentle murmur. "So many of my patients get stuck. They cling to old patterns, to characters in their life story who are no longer serving them. They don't understand that unless they let go, they're only letting that old pain pass on to their next generation, whether that's their children or just their life's work. The healing can't begin until you stop clinging."

Elara nodded, fidgeting slightly in her chair. "I see it all the time with my students," she said. "They can't seem to move past the same complaint, week after week."

Dr. Lena smiled faintly. "And what about you, Elara? Is there a character you're finding difficult to move past?"

Elara's posture stiffened, a sudden discomfort flashing across her face. "They're not letting me move on," she admitted, her voice filled with a weary frustration that was all too familiar. "I understand the struggle of my students completely. It's so hard to make progress when you can't seem to move past the same old patterns. But I know you can’t make progress unless you let go."

Dr. Lena nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “Then we begin by finding a way to let go of them.”

The Unforgettable Entrance

Elara returned from her session with Dr. Lena feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced in weeks. She felt ready to tackle the world, convinced that the "character" holding her back was finally gone. Her phone buzzed with a message from Mila, an invitation to a spontaneous hip-hop dance class at the gym. Elara, in a rare moment of triumph, replied, "Count me in!"

She arrived at the studio feeling confident, walking with an upright posture she hadn't had in a long time. The music pulsed through the room, and Elara smiled, feeling the rhythm. She started to sway, her hips beginning to move with the beat. As she spun to the right, a triumphant, almost cocky thought entered her mind: I knew I could move past him.

Just then, as she twisted her body, a familiar, sharp jab seized her lower back. It wasn’t a dull ache. It was a searing pain that cut through her newfound confidence. Her body froze mid-spin, a single hand going to her back as she winced.

From somewhere deep within her, a voice seemed to mock her.

"Don't you remember me?"

The Unknowing Relative

“I hope the lemonade is cold enough for you,” Janet said, settling into the wicker chair across from her. “That front porch swing can be a real heat trap.”

Carol took a long sip from her glass. “It’s perfect,” she said. “And this swing is just lovely. You know,” she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, “this swing brings back so many memories. Robert and I used to fight over the one at our childhood home all the time.”

Janet smiled. “I know. He used to say that all the time. He’d sit right there for hours.”

Carol’s voice grew serious. “I’m telling you, this is exactly what happened with Brittany last year. That boy she was dating—he was leading her down a path of ruin. But I stood firm. I put my foot down, and I put a stop to it.” She leaned closer to Janet. “I think you made the right decision. We heard about that young man she was with, Tad. You put a stop to it. It's so good to see her out of that. You really saved her.”

Janet's smile widened, and a genuine, quiet chuckle escaped her lips. She glanced toward the house where Elara was slowly descending the stairs, holding on to the railing with a death grip.

Carol looked at her, bewildered. “What’s so funny? I’m telling you, it was serious. A real problem.”

Janet just shook her head, the smile still on her face. “Oh, I know,” she said softly. “It’s a real problem, all right. And believe me, she’s not out of it just yet.”

Carol took one last sip of her lemonade, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, I should be going. But I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll make sure to get all the gossip then.”

Tadasura

The next day, Elara sits on her living room couch with Mila and her mom, Janet. Carol is in a nearby armchair, engrossed in a magazine about horoscopes. The coffee pot is in the background, a silent testament to the new morning routine. Elara is still moving a bit stiffly, but there's a lightness in her eyes.

“So,” Mila says, a knowing smile on her face. “How was your session with Dr. Lena?”

Elara smiles back, a genuine, relieved expression. “It was good. Really good. She talked about letting go of old patterns and characters that aren't serving you anymore.”

Janet sips her coffee, listening intently. She knows the true subject of this conversation, a secret she's had to keep for weeks.

Elara looks between the three women, a new understanding dawning on her. She finally realizes what both her mom and her friend have been trying to tell her. It's a look of exasperation mixed with a hint of humor.

“You know, I was talking to Mila at the coffee shop the other day, and Tad came up,” Elara says, the name a casual, venomous aside. "And the waiter, of all people, interrupted me mid-sentence."

Mila chuckles, and even Janet lets a small, amused smile escape.

"Well," Elara continues, her voice low with a new kind of resolve, "I can finally finish it now."

She takes a deep breath, and with a slight wince, she slowly straightens her posture.

“He’s a pain in the… you know where,” she says, the words a final, dramatic punctuation. “Because he is literally a pain in my back.”

Elara looks at Janet, then at Mila, a relieved laugh finally bubbling out of her.

Carol looks up from her magazine, bewildered. “What’s so funny? Tad is a problem, I told you that yesterday.”

Elara just shakes her head. “Oh, I know,” she says softly. “And you know what else? He has a name. A very stupid, pretentious name for a stupid, pretentious pain. He is… Tadasura.”

Carol’s voice, a confused protest, gets lost in the outburst of laughter from Elara, Mila, and Janet.