March 3rd, 2019, 7:45 A.M.

The phone buzzed just as the morning light spilled across Johan's borrowed desk at the Dhillon house. He reached for it, half-dreading, half-hoping. When he saw Clara's name on the screen, his breath steadied.

"Son, we did it," Clara said, her voice thin from exhaustion but threaded with quiet triumph. "Mahira and Anaya came with me to the district court yesterday. The judge approved the temporary restraining order."

For a moment, Johan couldn't speak. The tension that had lived in his chest for months loosened, if only slightly.

"That's... really good, Mom," he said softly. "So Dad can't come near you anymore? Or the kids?"

Clara exhaled. "That's right. He can't come near the shelter, the twins' elementary school, or even send messages. The police have copies of the order. If he tries anything, they'll know what to do."

Johan leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes close.

"You can breathe now, sweetheart," Clara added, almost in a whisper.

"I'll try," Johan murmured. For the first time in a long while, he almost believed everything would be okay.

***

March 10th 2019, 11:05 A.M.

A week later, the world felt like it had begun to move again.

Johan and Kenta walked hand in hand through Nagai Botanical Garden, the air thick with humidity and the scent of wet soil. The conservatory roof caught the sunlight and scattered it in prisms across Kenta's face. He looked peaceful, utterly at home among the leaves.

"You're smiling again," Kenta teased, nudging Johan gently. "Maybe plants really are therapy."

Johan grinned. "Only when you're next to them."

But his grin quickly vanished when he spotted someone suspicious out of the corner of his eyes.

From across the koi pond, he saw a tall figure—dark jacket, broad shoulders, the heavy gait he knew too well.

His throat went dry.

He grabbed Kenta's wrist. "Let's go."

Kenta followed his line of sight and didn't argue. They walked fast but casual, pretending to admire a line of orchids until they reached the exit.

Only once they were outside did Kenta speak. "You think that was—?"

"I don't know." Johan's voice shook. "But he moved like him and looked like him."

Kenta kept an arm around Johan, protective but not suffocating. "If that was your dad, he's guessing where you might be. He knows I love gardens. Maybe he's been checking every one he can find."

Johan pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. "So he got lucky today."

"Then we'll make luck harder for him," Kenta said. "No more predictable places. Next time, maybe we should go to thrift stores instead. Art galleries. Museums. Indie booksellers. Somewhere he'd never expect."

Johan nodded, though both knew unpredictability wasn't the same as safety.

***

That evening, Johan sat on the balcony of the Dhillon house, the phone trembling in his hand as he called Mahira. The light of the sunset bathed the balcony in orange.

"Mahira, sorry to call out of the blue," he began. "But I think I saw my dad. At the botanical garden."

Mahira's voice was sharp with concern. "Are you safe now?"

"Yes, yes. I left right away. I just... need to understand something. The restraining order—does it protect me too?"

There was a pause. Then Mahira said quietly, "Let me put Anaya on the line."

A click, then Anaya's measured tone. 

"Johan, I'm very glad you called. Listen carefully, domestic violence laws do automatically cover a spouse and any minor children living in the same household. Because you're an adult and not under age, though, unfortunately the court might not have included you unless your mother specifically requested it."

Johan felt something cold curl up his spine. "So my dad could be standing across the street and it wouldn't be a violation?"

Anaya sighed. "Technically, no. You'd need a separate petition in your own name."

"Right," Johan whispered. "Got it."

When Johan came back inside, Kiran Dhillon was in the living room, reading the newspaper. He looked up immediately when he heard Johan's footsteps.

"Everything alright here?" he asked.

Johan hesitated, then sat down. "I think I saw my dad today. I thought Mom's restraining order covered me, but apparently it does not."

Kiran listened in silence, his expression darkening. Then he spoke with the calm certainty of a man who'd weathered storms before.

"You've done what you can. Now it's time to do more. File your own restraining order. Don't wait for another close call."

Johan stared at him. "Do you think they'll take it seriously?"

"I'll go with you," Kiran said simply. "They'll take it seriously."

Navrita, who had been crocheting a glove nearby, added softly, "You're not a burden here, Johan. You're family."

The warmth in her tone undid him more than fear ever could. He nodded, blinking fast, and managed a small, steady breath. For a short but precious night, he didn't feel hunted. He just felt loved.

***

The next morning dawned gray and heavy with the promise of rain. Kiran insisted on driving Johan to the district court himself. Chandresh had classes, but his father had already cleared his morning schedule.

"I've been meaning to take care of a few things in that area anyway," Kiran said lightly over breakfast, though the look he gave Johan said otherwise: this was not an errand, this was solidarity.

The drive was mostly quiet. Kiran hummed softly to an old song on the radio, but every few minutes he would glance at Johan to make sure he was breathing evenly.

When they reached the courthouse, Kiran parked, turned off the ignition, and said, "Listen. You speak your truth and I'll handle any nonsense that comes up. Understand?"

Johan nodded, trying to smile. "I don't know how to thank you enough, Professor."

"You don't have to," Kiran replied. "You're Chandresh's friend. That means you're my responsibility too now."

Inside, the fluorescent-lit hallway smelled faintly of paper and disinfectant. They were directed to a small office labeled 'Civil Protection Orders.' A clerk in glasses handed Johan a thick packet of forms.

"Please fill this out as completely as possible. Include any incidents, dates, messages—anything that shows harassment or threat," she said.

Johan sat at the small waiting table, pen trembling in his hand. He paused at the section that asked for 'Relationship to Respondent.'

"Father," he wrote, the word cutting through his chest. How could Petrus be his father and yet never acted like one?

When the assistant asked, "Do you have someone you can stay with while this order is processed?"Johan turned slightly toward Kiran.

"Yes," Kiran said before Johan could. "He's with me. He'll be safe."

The assistant nodded approvingly. "That helps. The court will notify the police, and your father will be formally served once the judge signs the temporary order. You'll receive confirmation by mail within a few days."

Back outside, the drizzle had begun. Kiran handed Johan his umbrella but didn't open his own.

"Keep it," he said. "You should have an umbrella ready to go before the storms even arrive."

Johan blinked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. "Is that a metaphor? You always talk like you're giving me a lesson."

Kiran chuckled, unlocking the car. "Maybe I am. It's how concerned dads talk when they finally get to be protective."

For the first time since leaving his apartment behind, Johan didn't feel like someone else's burden. He felt as if he could remember again what having a good dad felt like, if only for a morning.

***

Later that evening, when Kiran and Johan returned, Chandresh was waiting in the living room, still in his campus hoodie, an untouched cup of coffee on the table.

"Everything went smoothly?" he asked, standing as they came in.

Johan nodded. "The paperwork's filed. I'll get a hearing notice in a few days."

Kiran set his keys down and gave a small smile. "He did fine. Kept his composure through every question."

Chandresh exhaled with relief, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. "I'm glad you went with him, Papa-ji. I know you had things to do today."

Kiran waved it off. "Paperwork can wait. This couldn't."

There was a pause, and then Chandresh said, quieter, "I'm really glad you didn't treat him like a guest here." He looked at Johan, then back at his father. "It means a lot that you see him like... like a second son."

Kiran chuckled, eyes glinting. "Maybe I should make it official. Adopt him. That way you'll have a brother. How would that feel, not being the only prince in this household?"

Johan's laughter broke through the heaviness that had been following him for weeks.

Chandresh groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Papa-ji, he's twenty-one. I'm pretty sure that's not how adoption works."

"Ah, details," Kiran said with mock solemnity. "The heart doesn't check ID cards."

Navrita, who had just come in from the kitchen with a plate of samosas, shook her head fondly. "If you're adopting Johan, then who's cleaning his room? Because I'm neither a nanny nor a maid."

That earned a genuine laugh from everyone, one that stayed in the air long after the sound faded.

***

After the house quieted and the dishes were done, Johan stepped outside with his phone. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and metallic. He called his mother.

Clara picked up on the second ring, her voice softer than usual. "Hi, honey. How did it go?"

"It's filed," Johan said. "Professor Dhillon came with me. The court should issue a temporary order soon."

"That's a relief," she exhaled. "I've been holding my breath all day."

"You can relax now, Mom. Dad can get arrested if he doesn't honor the restraining order."

"Thank the Lord," she murmured. "And thank Kiran Dhillon, too, of course. He sounds like a wonderful man."

Johan smiled faintly. "He's... one of the good ones."

Clara hesitated, then said with a teasing lilt Johan hadn't heard in years, "Maybe once the divorce is finalized, I can go on dates and hopefully end up with a man as great as he is."

"Wait, hold on," Johan spluttered. "Who said I want a step-dad?"

Clara's laughter rang through the phone. It was light, unguarded, something Johan hadn't realized he missed.

"Oh, come on," Clara chuckled. "Who knows what the future holds? I've been unhappy for so long, Johan. Now that happiness feels possible, why should I say no to dating? Finding love isn't just for the young."

Johan leaned against the balcony rail, smiling at the sound of her voice. "Fair enough. Just promise you'll pick someone who doesn't terrify me, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Clara said, still smiling. "And you... Please get some sleep tonight. You've done enough worrying for both of us."

***

Despite it sounding like a joke, when Clara mentioned to Mahira and Anaya that she had been thinking of the possibility of re-marrying one day, they did not call her silly or delusional. They told her of a circle of women who were previously battered and beaten by their exes but had now found healing, instead of just surviving.

The support group met on Thursday evenings in a multipurpose room above a community center. The smell of pastries and hand sanitizer hung in the air; the chairs were mismatched, the lighting soft enough to feel forgiving.

Mahira and Anaya sat with Clara near the back during introductions. Around them, women of different ages took turns speaking — a teacher from Kobe, a shopkeeper from Nara, a mother of three who'd left her husband last winter. Each survivor's story had its own weight, but what tied them all together was the quiet steadiness in their voices.

When it was Clara's turn, she hesitated, fingers smoothing the seam of her sleeve.
"I'm Clara," she began, her accent tilting between Indonesian and Japanese. "I'm still learning how to be on my own again."

The group leader nodded, inviting her to go on.

"It was an arranged marriage," Clara said, eyes unfocused, as if watching a movie in her head. "Petrus' family had a good reputation in North Sumatra. My parents thought I'd have a blissful life with him, and for a time, I did. He was kind then. We came to Japan, found work — I as a literary translator, he as an interpreter. But when he lost his job... everything changed. He started keeping track of my hours, my pay, and who I'm hanging out with. As if I'd taken something from him just by continuing to work."

The room stayed quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner.

One of the women, mid-forties with a streak of silver in her hair, leaned forward. "That happens more than people think. Some men don't know how to live with a woman who thrives."

Another added gently, "But remember, his frustration is not your fault. You didn't 'make' him cruel."

Clara nodded, blinking fast. "I tell myself that. Some days I believe it."

A woman across from her — Reiko, a bakery owner whose husband had gone to prison for assault — reached out and patted her hand. "You will. It just takes time. And when you're ready to date again, you'll see the signs. You'll notice kindness. You'll meet men who listen more than they talk."

The whole room murmured in agreement. Someone piled more pastries onto Clara's paper plate.

Mahira leaned close and whispered, "See? After rain comes a rainbow if you never stop working toward your dream life."

Clara smiled faintly, surprised at how warm the words felt. In this group of strong women, her story didn't echo back as shame. Rather, it met other stories halfway and together they softened its edges.