Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~16 min read
Chapter 5: Meeting Iris
POV: Priya Kapoor
Priya makes it exactly thirty-six hours after waking up in Carter’s bed before she breaks—thirty-six hours of going through the motions at work, treating players with professional competence while her mind replays the feeling of waking up in his arms, thirty-six hours of pretending everything is fine when she’s internally spiraling about feelings she can’t control and an arrangement that’s stopped making sense, thirty-six hours of carrying the weight of realization alone before she finally admits she needs help processing what’s happening.
Which is how she ends up on her couch on Saturday evening with a bottle of wine and her best friend, the careful composure she maintains at work completely abandoned in favor of the kind of vulnerable honesty she can only manage with Iris, the one person who knows all her secrets and won’t judge her for the spectacular mess she’s making of her professional and personal life.
“So I slept over,” Priya says without preamble, pouring herself a second glass of wine even though the first one hasn’t quite hit her system yet. “At Carter’s. The whole night. Woke up in his bed.”
Iris looks up from her own glass, dark eyes sharp with the perception that makes her excellent at her job as a relationship therapist and occasionally exhausting as a best friend. “You stayed over? That’s new.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Priya takes a long drink, needing the liquid courage for this conversation. “I fell asleep during a movie and he just—he let me stay. Carried me to bed. Slept next to me all night like it was normal.”
“And how did that feel?” Iris asks in her therapist voice, gentle but probing, the tone that means she’s already analyzed the situation and is just waiting for Priya to reach the same conclusions.
“Terrifying.” The admission comes out raw, honest. “And perfect. And like everything I want that I’m not supposed to have.”
Iris is quiet for a moment, studying Priya with an expression that’s too knowing, too sympathetic. “Pri, honey. I’m going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me, okay?”
Priya nods, stomach tight with anxiety because she knows what’s coming, has been avoiding this exact conversation for weeks now, has been lying to herself and everyone else about what’s really happening between her and Carter.
“Are you falling for him?”
The question sits heavy in the air between them, and Priya wants to deny it—wants to insist that it’s still just physical, still just a convenient arrangement, still something she can walk away from when the season ends without leaving pieces of her heart behind—but the words stick in her throat because lying to Iris is impossible, because denying it won’t make it less true, because she’s so tired of pretending she’s fine when everything inside her is screaming that she’s absolutely not fine.
“I’m falling for him,” Priya says quietly, and saying it out loud makes it real in a way that thinking it never did, makes it impossible to ignore or minimize or pretend it’s something manageable. “God, Iris, I’m falling for him and I don’t know how to stop.”
Iris’s expression goes soft with sympathy, and she reaches over to squeeze Priya’s hand. “Does he know?”
“No! We agreed no feelings!” Priya’s voice cracks despite her best efforts, months of careful control fracturing under the weight of finally admitting the truth. “That was the whole point of the arrangement—just physical, no emotions, ends when the season ends. I can’t tell him I’m breaking the rules we both agreed to.”
“Feelings don’t follow agreements, babe.” Iris’s voice is gentle but firm, delivering the kind of hard truth that Priya needs even if she doesn’t want to hear it. “You can’t negotiate with your heart like it’s a contract. Emotions don’t work that way.”
“They should.” Priya pulls her hand free to pour more wine, needing something to do with her hands, needing distance from the sympathy in Iris’s eyes that makes her want to cry. “We had a deal. Clear boundaries. An expiration date. It was supposed to be simple.”
“Was it ever simple?” Iris tilts her head, studying Priya with professional assessment. “Be honest—when did you start catching feelings? Because I’m guessing it wasn’t this week.”
Priya thinks back over the last three months—the first night they hooked up and how right it felt despite knowing it was risky, the second week when Carter texted her something funny during the day and she found herself smiling at her phone like a teenager, the month mark when she started looking forward to their hookups for reasons beyond the sex, the moment somewhere around week eight when she realized she was falling and panicked and doubled down on maintaining boundaries that were already crumbling.
“Two months ago,” she admits quietly. “Maybe longer. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to keep it under control, but then Thursday night happened and I woke up in his arms and it hit me all at once that I’m in love with him and this arrangement is going to destroy me when it ends.”
“Oh, Pri.” Iris moves closer, pulling Priya into a hug that breaks something open in her chest, and suddenly Priya’s crying—ugly, messy crying that she doesn’t allow herself at work, that she’s been holding back for months, that carries all the fear and longing and desperation she’s been trying to suppress. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard.”
“What do I do?” Priya asks into Iris’s shoulder, voice muffled and desperate. “How do I fix this?”
Iris pulls back enough to look at her, expression serious. “Tell him. Or end it. Halfway love will kill you.”
The words hit like a physical blow—harsh and true and exactly what Priya doesn’t want to hear, because both options feel impossible, because telling Carter means risking rejection and losing what they have, and ending it means giving him up entirely when the thought of not having him at all makes her chest ache with anticipated loss.
“I can’t tell him.” Priya wipes at her face, trying to pull herself together. “He doesn’t do relationships. His parents’ divorce messed him up—he’s told me explicitly that commitment isn’t something he can do. If I confess feelings, he’ll end things immediately.”
“And if you don’t tell him, you’ll spend the next four months slowly breaking your own heart while pretending everything’s fine.” Iris’s voice is gentle but unflinching. “That’s not sustainable, Pri. You’re already barely holding it together.”
“I can manage four more months.” But even as Priya says it, she knows it’s a lie—knows that four more months of loving Carter while he treats her like a temporary arrangement will do permanent damage, knows that watching him touch her and sleep with her and act like she matters while maintaining emotional distance will hollow her out until there’s nothing left. “I just need to—I need to get my feelings under control.”
“You can’t control feelings.” Iris says it like it’s obvious, like Priya should already know this even though she’s spent her entire life trying to manage her emotions through sheer force of will. “You can only decide what to do about them. And right now, you have two choices: be honest with Carter about what you’re feeling, or end the arrangement before it destroys you completely.”
“Those aren’t choices.” Priya stands, needing to move, needing to do something with the anxiety thrumming through her system. “Those are both disasters. If I tell him, he’ll panic and end things. If I end things, I lose him entirely. Either way I’m hurt.”
“Then pick the option that hurts less.” Iris watches her pace, expression sad. “Pick the option that lets you keep your dignity. Pick the option where you’re making the choice instead of waiting for him to make it for you.”
Priya stops at the window, staring out at Cambridge’s evening streets without really seeing them. “What if I’m wrong? What if he has feelings too?”
“Does he?” Iris asks quietly. “Has he given you any indication he wants more than your arrangement?”
Priya thinks about Carter asking her to stay over, about the way he looked at her when she woke up in his bed, about the tenderness in his touch when they’re alone, about the possessiveness she sees when other men talk to her—but then she thinks about his explicit statements about not doing relationships, about how he’s never suggested changing their arrangement, about how he still maintains perfect professional distance at work and refers to what they have as casual and temporary.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “Sometimes I think maybe—but then he’ll say something about the arrangement ending when the season ends, or he’ll reinforce the boundaries, and I realize I’m just seeing what I want to see.”
“Then you need to ask him.” Iris stands, joining Priya at the window. “You need to have an actual conversation about what this is and what you both want, instead of operating on assumptions and unspoken rules.”
“That violates the arrangement.” Even saying it sounds ridiculous—prioritizing arbitrary rules over honest communication—but Priya’s terrified that asking for clarification will expose her feelings, will force Carter to either reciprocate or reject, will end the careful balance they’ve maintained where she can have him physically even if she can’t have him emotionally.
“The arrangement is already violated,” Iris points out. “You’re in love with him. That’s the biggest violation possible. Everything else is just details.”
She’s right—Priya knows she’s right—but knowing what she should do and being brave enough to do it are different things, and right now the thought of confessing her feelings to Carter makes her want to throw up from anxiety.
“I’m scared,” Priya whispers, the admission costing something. “I’m scared he doesn’t feel the same way. I’m scared of losing what we have. I’m scared of getting hurt.”
“I know.” Iris wraps an arm around her shoulders, solid and comforting. “But babe, you’re already hurting. You’re already in deep enough that this is going to hurt no matter what. The only question is whether you’re going to be honest about it or keep pretending until the pain becomes permanent.”
Priya leans into her best friend’s support and tries to imagine having that conversation with Carter—sitting him down and confessing that she’s breaking their agreement, that she’s caught feelings she can’t control, that she wants more than their arrangement allows—and can’t picture it going any way except badly, can’t imagine a scenario where he responds with reciprocated feelings instead of panic and immediate termination of their hookups.
“What if telling him means I lose him completely?” The question comes out small, vulnerable. “At least now I have something. If I push for more and he rejects me, I’ll have nothing.”
“You’ll have your self-respect.” Iris’s voice is firm. “You’ll have the knowledge that you were brave enough to be honest. You’ll have the chance to move on instead of staying stuck in limbo loving someone who might not love you back.”
“Might not,” Priya repeats, catching on the word. “You think there’s a chance he does?”
Iris is quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing her words. “I think that men who don’t have feelings don’t ask women to stay over. Don’t carry them to bed. Don’t look at them the way you’ve described Carter looking at you.” She pauses. “But I also think that even if he does have feelings, that doesn’t mean he’s capable of acting on them. His fear of commitment might be stronger than whatever he feels for you.”
The words settle heavy in Priya’s chest because that’s the real fear, isn’t it?—not that Carter doesn’t have feelings, but that even if he does, they won’t be enough to overcome his trauma, won’t be enough to make him try, won’t be enough to choose her over the safety of staying emotionally isolated.
“So what do I do?” Priya asks again, desperate for answers that Iris can’t really give because this is Priya’s choice, Priya’s risk, Priya’s heart on the line.
“You decide what you need.” Iris turns her to face her, hands on Priya’s shoulders, expression serious and loving. “Not what he needs, not what’s safest, not what maintains the status quo. What do YOU need, Pri? What does your heart need to survive this?”
Priya closes her eyes and tries to access what she actually wants underneath all the fear and anxiety and professional concerns—and the answer comes clearly, painfully, impossible to ignore: she wants Carter to love her back, wants him to choose her, wants him to be brave enough to try despite his fear, wants a real relationship instead of an arrangement with an expiration date.
But wanting isn’t the same as getting.
And needing isn’t the same as having.
“I need to know if he feels the same way,” Priya says quietly, opening her eyes to find Iris watching her with approval. “I need to know if there’s a chance this could be real, or if I’m loving someone who can’t love me back.”
“Then ask him.” Iris squeezes her shoulders. “Be brave. Tell him what you’re feeling and ask him what he wants. Give him the chance to meet you halfway.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Priya’s voice cracks. “If he panics and ends things?”
“Then at least you’ll know.” Iris pulls her into another hug. “At least you’ll be able to move on instead of spending months wondering what if. At least you’ll have chosen honesty over fear.”
Priya holds onto her best friend and tries to find the courage Iris is asking for—the courage to risk rejection, to be vulnerable, to potentially destroy the arrangement they have in pursuit of something more—and comes up empty, still too scared, still too attached to what she has even if it’s not enough.
“I can’t do it yet,” she admits. “I know I should, but I can’t. Not right now.”
Iris pulls back, and there’s disappointment in her expression but also understanding. “Okay. But Pri? Don’t wait too long. Every day you spend loving him in secret is another day of damage to your heart. Eventually you won’t be able to recover from this.”
The warning settles like weight in Priya’s chest, and she knows Iris is right—knows that continuing the arrangement while hiding her feelings is unsustainable, knows that she’s on a countdown to inevitable destruction whether she acts or not—but she’s not ready yet to have the conversation that might end everything.
“How much longer do you think I have?” Priya asks, trying for humor and failing. “Before the damage is permanent?”
Iris doesn’t smile. “Honestly? I think you’re already closer to that line than you want to admit.”
They spend the rest of the evening on the couch with wine and bad reality TV—Iris giving her space to process, not pushing for decisions Priya isn’t ready to make—but even the distraction can’t fully quiet the anxiety thrumming through her system, the knowledge that she’s reached a breaking point and has to make a choice soon or risk losing herself entirely in an arrangement that’s destroying her.
Later, lying in her own bed in her own room, Priya stares at her ceiling and tries to imagine confessing her feelings to Carter—the conversation, his reaction, the potential outcomes—and can’t picture any scenario that doesn’t end badly, can’t imagine him responding with anything except panic or pity or gentle rejection.
Her phone buzzes on her nightstand: Carter.
You around tomorrow? Want to see you.
Such a simple text. Such a normal request. But Priya reads significance into it anyway—want to see you, not just want to hook up, want to SEE her specifically—and hates herself a little for dissecting every word looking for evidence of feelings that probably don’t exist.
She should say no. Should create distance. Should start protecting herself before the damage becomes permanent like Iris warned.
Come over around 2? she types instead, because apparently she’s incapable of self-preservation where Carter’s concerned, because the thought of not seeing him hurts worse than the thought of continuing to love him in secret.
Perfect. See you then.
Priya sets her phone down and closes her eyes, Iris’s words echoing in her head—tell him or end it, halfway love will kill you—and knows with sinking certainty that her best friend is right.
She can’t keep doing this.
Can’t keep loving Carter while pretending she doesn’t.
Can’t keep accepting crumbs of affection while wanting the whole meal.
Can’t keep sacrificing her emotional wellbeing for an arrangement that was never designed to sustain the feelings she’s developed.
Something has to change.
She has to be brave enough to tell him, or strong enough to end it.
But right now, lying alone in the dark with her heart aching and her courage failing, Priya can’t imagine being brave or strong enough for either option.
So she’ll keep going a little longer.
Keep pretending the arrangement is working.
Keep hoping maybe Carter will develop feelings on his own without her having to risk everything by confessing hers.
Keep lying to herself that this is sustainable when it clearly, obviously, painfully isn’t.
Until eventually something breaks—her heart, their arrangement, the careful balance she’s been maintaining—and forces the choice she’s too scared to make herself.
The thought should terrify her.
Instead it just feels inevitable.
Like she’s been waiting for disaster since this started, and now it’s just a question of when it arrives, not if.
Priya falls asleep still thinking about tomorrow, about seeing Carter, about whether she’ll have the courage then to say what she can’t say now, about whether Iris is right that halfway love will kill her or if she can survive a few more months of this ache before the arrangement ends and she’s forced to heal.
She suspects she already knows the answer.
And it’s not the one she wants to admit.
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