Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 17: She Goes On A Date
POV: Priya Kapoor
Iris ambushes Priya three weeks after ending things with Carter—three weeks of maintaining professional distance at work, three weeks of treating Carter’s injuries with clinical detachment while dying inside, three weeks of telling herself she’s moving on when clearly she’s not—with the kind of determined expression that means she’s made a decision and Priya’s not going to like it.
“I set you up on a date,” Iris announces without preamble, dropping onto the couch beside Priya with her phone already pulled up showing a photo of someone who’s objectively attractive in ways Priya should appreciate but currently can’t muster enthusiasm for.
“You what?” Priya looks up from the medical journal she’s been pretending to read, not actually absorbing any information because her brain is still stuck on the way Carter looked at her during this morning’s PT session—devastated and longing and nothing like the professional detachment Priya’s trying to maintain.
“Set you up. On a date.” Iris says it slower, like Priya’s struggling with the concept. “With Naveen. He’s a friend of a friend, doctor at Mass General, thirty, nice guy, no psychotic exes or commitment issues. Perfect for you.”
“I don’t want to date anyone,” Priya protests, even though she knows it’s pointless—Iris has that look, the one that means she’s decided Priya needs intervention and nothing will change her mind.
“You need to move on,” Iris says firmly. “You’ve been miserable for weeks. You ended things with Carter, which was the right choice, but now you’re stuck in limbo loving someone you can’t be with. Dating someone else will help.”
“Dating someone else won’t make me stop loving Carter,” Priya points out, the truth harsh and unavoidable. “It’ll just make me feel worse about not being able to move on.”
“Or it’ll remind you that there are other men out there. Men who aren’t terrified of commitment. Men who will choose you without needing months of therapy first.” Iris pulls up Naveen’s profile—doctor, accomplished, conventionally attractive, interests that align reasonably well with Priya’s. “Just one date. If it’s awful, you never have to see him again. But Pri, you need to at least try.”
Priya knows Iris is right in that frustrating way best friends are right when you don’t want them to be—she does need to try moving on, does need to prove to herself that she can have feelings for someone who isn’t Carter Vaughn, does need to start building a life that doesn’t revolve around loving someone who’s lost her.
“Fine,” Priya agrees, already regretting it. “One date. But when it’s terrible, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal,” Iris says, grinning with victory.
The date is Saturday night—Priya spends way too long getting ready, changing outfits three times before settling on a dress that’s nice enough to show effort but not so nice that it screams desperate, doing her makeup carefully while trying not to think about how the last time she got dressed up for a date was with Carter, when he took her to that perfect dinner that gave her so much hope before everything fell apart.
Naveen picks her up at seven—punctual, polite, holding flowers that are a sweet gesture Priya should appreciate but instead just makes her think about how Carter never brought her flowers, how their relationship was always more raw and real than traditional romantic gestures, how she’d take Carter’s intensity over Naveen’s perfect manners any day.
“You look beautiful,” Naveen says, and he’s objectively right—Priya put effort into looking good—but the compliment feels hollow compared to the way Carter used to look at her like she was the only person in the room, like she was everything he needed even when he was too scared to admit it.
Stop comparing, Priya tells herself firmly. Give him a fair chance.
Dinner is at an Italian restaurant in the North End—nice atmosphere, good food, conversation that flows easily enough as Naveen talks about his work in cardiology and asks polite questions about Priya’s PT career—and objectively it’s a fine date, the kind of pleasant evening that should be enjoyable, that would be enjoyable if Priya could stop thinking about Carter.
“So you work with the Blades?” Naveen asks over appetizers, genuine interest in his voice. “That must be exciting. Do you get to travel with the team?”
“Sometimes,” Priya says, poking at her bruschetta without really eating it. “Mostly I’m at the home facility. Treating injuries, managing recovery protocols, keeping players healthy for games.”
“That sounds rewarding,” Naveen says, and he means it, but Priya can’t help comparing this polite interest to the way Carter used to ask about her work—invested and specific, remembering details from previous conversations, caring not just about what she did but how she felt about it.
The comparison is unfair. Naveen’s a stranger making first-date conversation. Carter knew her intimately for months. They’re not equivalent situations and Priya knows she shouldn’t be measuring Naveen against Carter when Carter set an impossibly high bar that maybe no one else can reach.
But knowing she’s being unfair doesn’t stop her from doing it.
“What about you?” Priya asks, forcing herself to engage properly. “Cardiology—that’s intense. What made you choose that specialty?”
Naveen launches into a story about a family member’s heart condition that inspired his career path, and it’s genuinely interesting, genuinely sweet in a way Priya should find endearing—but all she can think about is how Carter never talked about his career motivations with this kind of practiced ease, how everything with Carter was raw and unpolished and real in ways that felt more authentic than Naveen’s perfectly constructed narrative.
Dinner continues—main courses arrive, wine flows, conversation touches on family and hobbies and future goals—and Naveen is perfect on paper, exactly the kind of man Priya should want, everything her parents would approve of without hesitation.
Stable career. Good family. No commitment issues or emotional baggage. Ready for a relationship instead of terrified of one.
Perfect.
And Priya feels absolutely nothing.
No spark. No chemistry. No desire to lean closer or touch his hand or do any of the things that happened naturally with Carter from the first moment they met.
Just pleasant conversation with a nice man who deserves someone who’s actually present instead of constantly thinking about someone else.
“I had a really good time,” Naveen says when he walks her to her apartment building after dinner, and Priya knows what’s coming, can see it in his body language, recognizes the moment before a first-date kiss that she should want but absolutely doesn’t.
“Me too,” Priya lies, because Naveen’s nice and didn’t do anything wrong except not be Carter.
He leans in—slow and telegraphed, giving Priya time to pull away if she wants—and she doesn’t pull away, lets him kiss her, closes her eyes and tries to feel something, anything, any hint of the fire that Carter ignited with just a look.
The kiss is fine. Technically competent. Naveen’s clearly experienced and knows what he’s doing.
And Priya feels nothing.
No heat. No desire. No acceleration of her pulse or weakness in her knees or any of the things that Carter’s kiss made her feel, made her crave, made her willing to risk everything for.
She pulls back after a few seconds—long enough to be polite, not long enough to be leading him on—and sees disappointment flicker across Naveen’s face as he clearly registers her lack of enthusiasm.
“I should go,” Priya says, already reaching for her keys. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Naveen’s still trying to be polite despite the obvious rejection. “Can I call you? Maybe do this again?”
Priya should say no. Should be honest that she’s not ready, that her heart is still tangled up with someone else, that Naveen deserves someone who can actually be present on a date instead of constantly comparing him to an ex who set an impossible standard.
“Maybe text me,” Priya says instead, noncommittal enough to avoid outright rejection but not encouraging enough to give false hope. “I’ll let you know.”
She escapes into her building before Naveen can push for a more concrete answer, makes it up to her apartment and inside before the tears start—crying from frustration and disappointment and the crushing realization that she can’t move on, can’t feel anything for anyone else, can’t escape loving Carter even when she knows it’s destroying her.
Iris is still awake—working late on case notes at the kitchen table—and looks up when Priya enters, taking one look at her face before setting aside her laptop with concern.
“That bad?” Iris asks gently.
“He was perfect,” Priya says, voice breaking. “Doctor, nice, stable, ready for commitment. Everything I should want. And I felt nothing.”
“Oh, Pri.” Iris stands, pulling her into a hug that Priya collapses into.
“He kissed me and I just—” Priya sobs into Iris’s shoulder. “I kept comparing it to Carter. Everything was fire with Carter. Even when we were just physical, even when he couldn’t commit, being with him was intense and real and perfect in ways I can’t explain. And tonight was just… empty.”
“It was one date—” Iris starts, but Priya shakes her head.
“It doesn’t matter. It could be a hundred dates and I’d still feel nothing because I’m ruined for other men.” The admission comes out broken, devastated. “I’m stuck loving someone who can’t love me properly and it’s ruined me for anyone else.”
Iris holds her while she cries, doesn’t offer platitudes or false hope, just provides solid support while Priya falls apart over the reality she’s been avoiding—that ending things with Carter was the right choice for her self-respect but doesn’t actually help her move on, that loving him doesn’t just stop because she’s decided to, that her heart doesn’t care about logic or self-preservation or any of the smart reasons she had for walking away.
“Give it time,” Iris finally says when Priya’s tears slow. “You just ended things with Carter a few weeks ago. You need more time to heal before you can feel anything for someone else.”
“What if time doesn’t help?” Priya asks, voicing her deepest fear. “What if I never feel this way about anyone else? What if Carter was it for me and I walked away because he wasn’t ready and now I’m just—stuck?”
“Then you figure out if you can live without him or if you need to give him another chance,” Iris says practically. “But Pri, if you’re going to go back to him, it has to be because he’s actually changed, not just because you’re lonely or can’t move on. He has to have done the work to become someone who can give you what you need.”
Priya nods, knowing Iris is right but not sure how to determine if Carter’s actually changed or if he’s just getting better at promising he will—doesn’t know if therapy is genuinely helping or just something he’s doing to try winning her back, doesn’t know if his confession of love was real or panic at losing her, doesn’t know how to tell the difference between actual growth and performance of growth.
“I can’t go back just because I miss him,” Priya says, more to herself than Iris. “Can’t go back unless I know it’ll be different.”
“Exactly,” Iris agrees. “So you take your time. You heal. You wait until you’re strong enough to make the choice from clarity instead of desperation. And if Carter’s serious about change, he’ll wait too.”
Priya goes to bed that night emotionally drained, replaying the date with Naveen and comparing it to her time with Carter—the difference between polite conversation and real connection, between technically competent kissing and chemistry that sets her on fire, between someone who’s perfect on paper and someone who’s perfect for her despite all his flaws.
She knows objectively that Carter hurt her, that his fear and inability to commit caused real damage, that walking away was self-preservation and not cruelty.
But she also knows that what she felt with Carter—what she still feels—doesn’t just transfer to someone else because they’re available and ready for commitment.
Love doesn’t work that way.
Her heart doesn’t work that way.
And Priya’s stuck in the worst kind of limbo—knowing she made the right choice by leaving but unable to move forward, loving someone she can’t be with but unable to love anyone else, choosing herself but feeling like she’s lost everything that mattered in the process.
“I’m ruined for other men,” Priya whispers into her pillow, the truth settling heavy and unavoidable.
Carter Vaughn—terrified, damaged, unable to commit Carter who couldn’t love her the way she needed—has ruined her for anyone else.
And Priya has no idea how to fix that except time she’s not sure will help, or going back to someone who’s already broken her heart multiple times, or accepting that maybe some people only get one great love and she had hers with someone who wasn’t capable of keeping her.
None of the options feel good.
None of them offer hope.
And Priya falls asleep crying into her pillow, stuck loving Carter and unable to move on, choosing herself but losing everything in the process.
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