Chapter 2: The Breaking Point

The email arrives on a Tuesday.

Sush is in the middle of a session with a six-year-old girl named Ananya who's working on identifying emotions. They're using flashcards — happy, sad, angry, scared. Ananya keeps picking "angry" for every face, which is either a sign that she's not understanding the task or a sign that she's deeply perceptive about the human condition.

Sush's phone buzzes in her pocket. She ignores it. The session is almost over.

"Ananya, look at this one." She holds up the "happy" card. "What is this person feeling?"

Ananya stares at the card. Her expression doesn't change.

"Angry," she says.

Sush makes a note. Tries again.

When the session ends, she checks her phone.

The email is from the centre director. Subject line: Staff Meeting — Mandatory Attendance.

She opens it.

> Dear Team, > > Due to budget constraints, we will be reducing therapy hours for all clients effective March 1st. Sessions will be shortened from 60 minutes to 45 minutes. We will also be implementing a new parent training program to reduce the need for one-on-one therapy. > > Please attend the staff meeting this Friday at 4 PM to discuss the transition plan. > > Best regards, > Mrs. Deshmukh

Sush reads it twice.

Then she walks to the staff room and finds Priya-ma'am.

"Did you see the email?" Sush asks.

Priya-ma'am is eating lunch — dal-chawal in a steel tiffin. She nods without looking up.

"This is insane," Sush says. "These kids need the full hour. You can't just cut fifteen minutes and expect—"

"I know."

"Then why aren't you saying anything?"

Priya-ma'am finally looks at her. Her eyes are tired. "What do you want me to say, Sushmita? The centre is losing money. Mrs. Deshmukh has to make cuts somewhere."

"But this isn't—"

"I know." Priya-ma'am's voice is flat. "I know it's not fair. I know it's not good for the kids. But this is how it is."

Sush stares at her. "So we just accept it?"

"What else are we going to do?"

The question hangs in the air.

Sush doesn't have an answer.

She goes back to the therapy room. Sits in the plastic chair. Stares at the pale yellow walls.

She's thought about quitting before. A hundred times. But she's never actually done it. Because her mother works here. Because she loves the kids. Because she doesn't know what else she would do.

But now—

Now she's so angry she can feel it in her teeth.

She pulls out her phone. Opens the group chat.

Sush: i need to get out of this city

Rahul: what happened

Sush: work stuff

Sush: im just

Sush: i dont know

Sush: i need to do something

Kunal: like what

Sush: i dont know

Sush: something big

GP: you should take a trip

GP: like a real trip

GP: not just lonavala or some shit

Sush: where

GP: idk

GP: europe?

She stares at the message.

Europe.

The idea is absurd. She's never been outside India. She doesn't have that kind of money. Her parents would never allow it.

But the word sits in her chest like a small fire.

Europe.

That night, she lies in bed and googles "solo trip to Europe from India."

The results are overwhelming. Visa requirements. Flight costs. Hostel bookings. Travel insurance. She has no idea where to start.

But she keeps scrolling.

She finds a blog post by an Indian girl who did a solo Europe trip last year. The girl is from Mumbai, twenty-four years old, and she writes about Paris and Amsterdam and Barcelona like they're real places you can actually go to, not just things you see in movies.

Sush reads the entire post. Then she reads it again.

At the end, there's a line that makes her chest tighten:

"I went to Europe to escape. I came back to myself."

She closes her laptop. Stares at the ceiling.

Thumki is asleep at the foot of her bed, purring softly.

She thinks about Aarav saying "ball." She thinks about Ananya picking "angry" for every emotion. She thinks about Priya-ma'am's tired eyes and Mrs. Deshmukh's budget cuts and her mother's reputation and the way this job is slowly suffocating her even though she loves it.

She thinks about her ex's messages. I miss you. I crave you.

She thinks about Kunal and Rahul and GP and the way they make her laugh but also the way she feels like she's performing sometimes, like she's playing the role of Sush instead of actually being Sush.

She thinks about the fact that she's twenty-two years old and she's never had sex and she doesn't even know what she wants.

And she thinks: What if I just went?

The thought is terrifying.

The thought is exhilarating.

She picks up her phone. Opens her banking app. Checks her savings account.

₹1,47,000.

It's everything she's saved from her therapy job over the past two years. She was saving it for... something. She doesn't even know what. A new scooty, maybe. Or a course. Or just security.

But now she's looking at that number and thinking: What if I spent it on myself?

She opens a new tab. Searches "Schengen visa for Indian citizens."

The process is complicated. She needs to apply through VFS Global. She needs proof of accommodation, proof of funds, travel insurance, a detailed itinerary. The visa costs €80 plus service charges. Processing takes fifteen days.

She reads everything. Takes notes.

By 2 AM, she has a rough plan:

1. Apply for Schengen visa (France — she'll spend the most nights there) 2. Book flights (Pune → Delhi → Paris, cheapest option) 3. Book hostels (budget, female dorms) 4. Buy travel insurance 5. Create a cover story for her parents

The last one is the hardest.

Her parents would never let her go on a solo trip to Europe. Never. Her mother would worry. Her father would say it's not safe. They'd ask a thousand questions she doesn't have answers to.

So she'll have to lie.

The thought makes her stomach twist. She's not a good liar. But she's also not a good quitter, and she's been quitting on herself for two years now, staying in this job, staying in this city, staying small and safe and stuck.

She's done staying.

She opens the group chat.

Sush: im doing it

Sush: im going to europe

It's 2:17 AM. No one responds.

She puts her phone down. Closes her eyes.

For the first time in months, she falls asleep smiling.

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