Pratyusha and Anushree show what it takes to build a relationship in the face of everyday mental and physical health challenges.
Bollywood brought Pratyusha and Anushree together. They first encountered each other during a heated debate over the song Iktara from Wake Up Sid, their first date was watching Veer Zaara together, and their online flirtationship turned into a full-blown romance with Anushree strumming Kuch Kuch Hota Hai for Pratyusha on a ukulele.
Their love story, however, is far from the stuff of celluloid fairy tales.
“Sometimes, when you finally find yourself in a safe relationship, the trauma shows up. You start to feel the grief of knowing that you’ve gone your whole life without it,” said Anushree, as they sat next to Pratyusha in a cosy, moderately-sized bedroom in an apartment on the outskirts of Mohali in Punjab.
Even though they’ve been together for over a year now, the trauma of the past means that Pratyusha and Anushree still sometimes find themselves needing reassurance. “Sometimes we ask each other, 'Why do you love me?' or 'What are the things that make you love me?', said Anushree.
Pratyusha and Anushree moved into the apartment—the home of a mutual friend—in August 2024, almost a year into their relationship. Both of them are neurodivergent, which, in their case, means they find themselves overstimulated easily. Social interactions, crowds, and excessive noise can be highly stressful for them. Located near a national highway, the building they live in is surrounded by green fields as far as the eye can see, occasionally interspersed with similarly isolated buildings. It offers them the quiet and isolation they crave.
Anushree, a 32-year-old Konkani Maharashtrian, works as a therapist. They spent most of their life in suburban Mumbai with their natal family, with whom they have now grown distant and discordant. They wear their hair short and usually present in clothing traditionally considered masculine. They are, in their own words, “unapologetically queer.”
Pratyusha, 27, is a freelance writer and gender-sexuality educator, who was born in Visakhapatnam. An out nonbinary asexual lesbian, Pratyusha came out to their family five years ago. While their sister has been supportive, their parents have struggled to come to terms with their queerness.
Pratyusha lives with clinical depression and a debilitating condition called Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, also known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Anushree is autistic. For both of them, even basic aspects of everyday life can be a struggle.
“We took a shower today, which isn’t a daily occurrence,” said Anushree. “Sometimes it’s because of the cold weather, or illness, or sometimes it’s because we just don’t have mental energy, we usually tend to wake up late or shower on alternative days.” Anushree’s damp hair, side-parted, was still drying as they sat in a turquoise blue shirt adorned with pink flamingos. Pratyusha, also wearing a shirt with acrylic prints and big hoop earrings, offered me a cup of delicious chai.
Pratyusha and Anushree are diehard fans of Bollywood’s dreamy, single-dimensional, stereotypical romances. Their own love story not only transcends those cliches, it also defies many of the archetypes of queer coupledom that are considered ‘aspirational.’ Their story is worth telling because the model of relationship they are trying to build as neurodivergent queers is something we rarely see or hear about in India.
“2023 was a breakout year for Bollywood fanatics on Twitter [now known as X]—it was the year of brackets,” Pratyusha said. Their eyes suddenly gleamed with zeal as they reminisced about how they met Anushree. “Brackets are popularity contests where people vote for their favourites—songs, food, movies, pretty much anything,” Pratyusha explained passionately. “It came to Indian Twitter in 2023, and there was this 2000s Bollywood songs bracket.”
In these contests, iconic songs were pitted against each other through X polls, with users fiercely campaigning for their choices using memes, threads, and hashtags. After weeks of intense battles and fan rivalries, one song would emerge as the winner.
In September 2023, Pratyusha had just returned to Visakhapatnam from the UK and was fully immersed in writing their master’s dissertation on the many ways in which Desi queer youth cultivate queer joy in their natal family setup. They were juggling sleepless nights and restless days, conducting interviews, analysing data, and vomiting thousands of words out onto documents.
Amidst the disorienting haze of those days, Pratyusha often forgot to take their medications but remained unfailingly committed to one thing: voting for Bollywood song brackets. “My marker for distinguishing one day from another—because I wasn’t sleeping—was the polls. They’d change every 24 hours, and that’s how I knew the day had turned,” Pratysha said.
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away, in Delhi, Anushree was working from home as a therapist. Between work and life, they too spent a lot of time on X, drawn to everything Bollywood and astrology.
As both Pratyusha and Anushree threw themselves into passionately campaigning for their favourite Bollywood songs to win, their timelines on X began to overlap.
One day, Iktara was in the running. Pratyusha, who is not a fan of the track, was quick to diss it. “This song should go—it’s so overplayed,” they posted on X. Anushree, a devoted admirer of the track, responded with playful indignation: “Who? Overplayed it for you?”
And the banter began between the two.
A few days later, the bracket had progressed to a face-off between the songs Kajra Re and Kal Ho Naa Ho. Anushree was passionately rooting for the latter since it starred their idol, Shah Rukh Khan (SRK). By now, they knew that Pratyusha was a huge SRK fan too, so they were expecting to be on the same side this time.
But Pratyusha voted for Kajra Re instead. It was their “Bollywood lesbian awakening song,” Pratyusha told me.
Anushree decided to avenge their hero. They created a video featuring the song Dard-E-Disco from the movie Om Shanti Om, overlaid with the audio from Kajra Re. Tagging Pratyusha and other “self-proclaimed” SRK fans who had “betrayed” his songs in the bracket, Anushree called them out in jest.
Pratyusha responded to the video with a cheeky, “Are you flirting with me?”
To which Anushree replied, “My autistic self is taking notes: this is how you flirt. PS: If you think I’m being weird, that’s when I’m trying to flirt. Okay?”
As we sipped chai in Punjab's almost winter, Pratyusha recounted the story animatedly, humming song lyrics playfully in between to tease Anushree.
The online banter quickly progressed to sliding into each other’s direct messages, which led to a virtual movie date. On October 3rd, they watched Veer Zaara, a three-hour-long movie, over five hours—pausing frequently to discuss the songs, dive into the movie’s themes, and share trivia.
A day after their virtual movie date, Anushree sent Pratyusha a YouTube link to the song Kathai Ankho Wali Ek Ladki from the SRK movie Duplicate, whose opening refrain features the line, “Tum Mujhe Pehle Kyun Nahi Mile?” [why didn’t I find you before?]. In response, Pratyusha recorded themselves singing the song “Haule Haule Ho Jayega Pyaar” [slowly slowly, love will happen].
The exchange culminated in Anushree sending an audio message. When Pratyusha pressed play, they heard the soft strumming of a ukulele. The tune was Kuch Kuch Hota Hai [something is happening], an iconic romantic song starring SRK.
“I was dumbfounded. Truly, utterly dumbfounded,” Pratyusha said, their cheeks flushing as they glanced shyly at Anushree, who was struggling to hide their glee. “And there was no going back from there.”
A month from then, they decided to meet in Mumbai. When I asked how it felt to see each other in person for the first time, they looked at each other and smiled. “We hugged,” Pratyusha said. “I didn’t feel butterflies in my stomach—those tickly feelings and stuff. For me, those are signs that I’m anxious. I felt calm.”
In that quiet calmness, in the absence of nerves, they held each other, stealing kisses and moments of intimacy. For them, calmness wasn’t just comfort—it was love.
Though the Bollywood meet-cute had felt deliciously romantic, Pratyusha knew all too well how fleeting and fragile love could be, especially when teetering on the edge of mental breakdowns. For years, their Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, ADHD, and depression had compounded into constant suicidal ideation. Pratyusha said they had tried to fight the urge to meet Anushree. “I kept asking myself, ‘If I decide to leave this world, do I want to hurt another person?’,” they said, their voice wavering.
Bollywood brought Pratyusha and Anushree together. They first encountered each other during a heated debate over the song Iktara from Wake Up Sid, their first date was watching Veer Zaara together, and their online flirtationship turned into a full-blown romance with Anushree strumming Kuch Kuch Hota Hai for Pratyusha on a ukulele.
Their love story, however, is far from the stuff of celluloid fairy tales.
“Sometimes, when you finally find yourself in a safe relationship, the trauma shows up. You start to feel the grief of knowing that you’ve gone your whole life without it,” said Anushree, as they sat next to Pratyusha in a cosy, moderately-sized bedroom in an apartment on the outskirts of Mohali in Punjab.
Even though they’ve been together for over a year now, the trauma of the past means that Pratyusha and Anushree still sometimes find themselves needing reassurance. “Sometimes we ask each other, 'Why do you love me?' or 'What are the things that make you love me?', said Anushree.
Pratyusha and Anushree moved into the apartment—the home of a mutual friend—in August 2024, almost a year into their relationship. Both of them are neurodivergent, which, in their case, means they find themselves overstimulated easily. Social interactions, crowds, and excessive noise can be highly stressful for them. Located near a national highway, the building they live in is surrounded by green fields as far as the eye can see, occasionally interspersed with similarly isolated buildings. It offers them the quiet and isolation they crave.
Anushree, a 32-year-old Konkani Maharashtrian, works as a therapist. They spent most of their life in suburban Mumbai with their natal family, with whom they have now grown distant and discordant. They wear their hair short and usually present in clothing traditionally considered masculine. They are, in their own words, “unapologetically queer.”
Pratyusha, 27, is a freelance writer and gender-sexuality educator, who was born in Visakhapatnam. An out nonbinary asexual lesbian, Pratyusha came out to their family five years ago. While their sister has been supportive, their parents have struggled to come to terms with their queerness.
Pratyusha lives with clinical depression and a debilitating condition called Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, also known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Anushree is autistic. For both of them, even basic aspects of everyday life can be a struggle.
“We took a shower today, which isn’t a daily occurrence,” said Anushree. “Sometimes it’s because of the cold weather, or illness, or sometimes it’s because we just don’t have mental energy, we usually tend to wake up late or shower on alternative days.” Anushree’s damp hair, side-parted, was still drying as they sat in a turquoise blue shirt adorned with pink flamingos. Pratyusha, also wearing a shirt with acrylic prints and big hoop earrings, offered me a cup of delicious chai.
Pratyusha and Anushree are diehard fans of Bollywood’s dreamy, single-dimensional, stereotypical romances. Their own love story not only transcends those cliches, it also defies many of the archetypes of queer coupledom that are considered ‘aspirational.’ Their story is worth telling because the model of relationship they are trying to build as neurodivergent queers is something we rarely see or hear about in India.
“2023 was a breakout year for Bollywood fanatics on Twitter [now known as X]—it was the year of brackets,” Pratyusha said. Their eyes suddenly gleamed with zeal as they reminisced about how they met Anushree. “Brackets are popularity contests where people vote for their favourites—songs, food, movies, pretty much anything,” Pratyusha explained passionately. “It came to Indian Twitter in 2023, and there was this 2000s Bollywood songs bracket.”
In these contests, iconic songs were pitted against each other through X polls, with users fiercely campaigning for their choices using memes, threads, and hashtags. After weeks of intense battles and fan rivalries, one song would emerge as the winner.
In September 2023, Pratyusha had just returned to Visakhapatnam from the UK and was fully immersed in writing their master’s dissertation on the many ways in which Desi queer youth cultivate queer joy in their natal family setup. They were juggling sleepless nights and restless days, conducting interviews, analysing data, and vomiting thousands of words out onto documents.
Amidst the disorienting haze of those days, Pratyusha often forgot to take their medications but remained unfailingly committed to one thing: voting for Bollywood song brackets. “My marker for distinguishing one day from another—because I wasn’t sleeping—was the polls. They’d change every 24 hours, and that’s how I knew the day had turned,” Pratysha said.
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away, in Delhi, Anushree was working from home as a therapist. Between work and life, they too spent a lot of time on X, drawn to everything Bollywood and astrology.
As both Pratyusha and Anushree threw themselves into passionately campaigning for their favourite Bollywood songs to win, their timelines on X began to overlap.
One day, Iktara was in the running. Pratyusha, who is not a fan of the track, was quick to diss it. “This song should go—it’s so overplayed,” they posted on X. Anushree, a devoted admirer of the track, responded with playful indignation: “Who? Overplayed it for you?”
And the banter began between the two.
A few days later, the bracket had progressed to a face-off between the songs Kajra Re and Kal Ho Naa Ho. Anushree was passionately rooting for the latter since it starred their idol, Shah Rukh Khan (SRK). By now, they knew that Pratyusha was a huge SRK fan too, so they were expecting to be on the same side this time.
But Pratyusha voted for Kajra Re instead. It was their “Bollywood lesbian awakening song,” Pratyusha told me.
Anushree decided to avenge their hero. They created a video featuring the song Dard-E-Disco from the movie Om Shanti Om, overlaid with the audio from Kajra Re. Tagging Pratyusha and other “self-proclaimed” SRK fans who had “betrayed” his songs in the bracket, Anushree called them out in jest.
Pratyusha responded to the video with a cheeky, “Are you flirting with me?”
To which Anushree replied, “My autistic self is taking notes: this is how you flirt. PS: If you think I’m being weird, that’s when I’m trying to flirt. Okay?”
As we sipped chai in Punjab's almost winter, Pratyusha recounted the story animatedly, humming song lyrics playfully in between to tease Anushree.
The online banter quickly progressed to sliding into each other’s direct messages, which led to a virtual movie date. On October 3rd, they watched Veer Zaara, a three-hour-long movie, over five hours—pausing frequently to discuss the songs, dive into the movie’s themes, and share trivia.
A day after their virtual movie date, Anushree sent Pratyusha a YouTube link to the song Kathai Ankho Wali Ek Ladki from the SRK movie Duplicate, whose opening refrain features the line, “Tum Mujhe Pehle Kyun Nahi Mile?” [why didn’t I find you before?]. In response, Pratyusha recorded themselves singing the song “Haule Haule Ho Jayega Pyaar” [slowly slowly, love will happen].
The exchange culminated in Anushree sending an audio message. When Pratyusha pressed play, they heard the soft strumming of a ukulele. The tune was Kuch Kuch Hota Hai [something is happening], an iconic romantic song starring SRK.
“I was dumbfounded. Truly, utterly dumbfounded,” Pratyusha said, their cheeks flushing as they glanced shyly at Anushree, who was struggling to hide their glee. “And there was no going back from there.”
A month from then, they decided to meet in Mumbai. When I asked how it felt to see each other in person for the first time, they looked at each other and smiled. “We hugged,” Pratyusha said. “I didn’t feel butterflies in my stomach—those tickly feelings and stuff. For me, those are signs that I’m anxious. I felt calm.”
In that quiet calmness, in the absence of nerves, they held each other, stealing kisses and moments of intimacy. For them, calmness wasn’t just comfort—it was love.
Though the Bollywood meet-cute had felt deliciously romantic, Pratyusha knew all too well how fleeting and fragile love could be, especially when teetering on the edge of mental breakdowns. For years, their Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, ADHD, and depression had compounded into constant suicidal ideation. Pratyusha said they had tried to fight the urge to meet Anushree. “I kept asking myself, ‘If I decide to leave this world, do I want to hurt another person?’,” they said, their voice wavering.
Before I travelled to meet them in Mohali, Pratyusha had requested me to bring them their prescribed psychiatric medications from Delhi. Finding those medicines in Mohali is nearly impossible, they told me.
"I'm an insomniac without my drugs," Pratyusha said. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS), as the name suggests, brings relentless fatigue unrelieved by rest. For Pratyusha, living with CFS means often pushing past their "energy envelope"—the safe limit of exertion—because it’s difficult to gauge that limit in real-time. This can lead to post-exertional malaise (PEM), commonly known as a crash. During these crashes, Pratyusha described how everything becomes unbearably exhausting. Simple actions like getting out of bed, talking, or even eating feel insurmountable.
Anushree told me that, like Pratyusha, they were also very intentional about communicating their own trauma, triggers, and vulnerabilities to the person they were falling in love with. They spoke of their own suicidal ideation.
Anushree’s autism means that they often experience overstimulation, struggle with understanding certain social cues, and find it challenging to quickly grasp or process social situations. They often find social interactions to be overwhelming and find it difficult to cope when routines that they are used to—that give them comfort and safety—are disrupted.
Anushree had struggled in their previous romantic relationships. Partners, Anushree said, tended to neglect or ignore the very specific, not always rational, often difficult demands of their neurodivergent mind. "Pratyusha prioritising me, or being forthcoming in asserting that they want me and this relationship, was new to me," Anushree said.
"When people told me in the past, 'I do love you, and I do care for you,' but they were not emotionally available, the words meant nothing,” Anushree explained. “I need people with high emotional intelligence to understand my processes of living and loving—someone who wouldn’t get tired of my overthinking mind, my oversensitivity, and how easily I get hurt.”
In prior relationships, Anushree had found it challenging to express vulnerability and communicate their needs. With Pratyusha, they were able to speak with honesty and clarity. "I told them that I get hurt easily, and I want the space to talk about it,” said Anushree. “It’s incredibly difficult in an intimate, romantic relationship to act as though nothing has happened when I’m still carrying that hurt. I need the assurance that if I tell my partner I’m hurt because of their actions, they won’t invalidate or dismiss my feelings."
But advocating for their needs was only one part of the challenge. Anushree also had to figure out how to support Pratyusha with their mental and physical health in ways that felt safe and sustainable to them.
One of the mental health issues Anushree initially struggled with—and discussed extensively with their therapist—was Pratyusha’s tendency to self-harm. At the beginning of their relationship, Anushree experienced emotional turmoil whenever Pratyusha spoke about suicidal ideation or self-harm. This was particularly gruelling during the long-distance phase, as Anushree couldn’t be physically present but would still be aware when self-harm occurred.
A 2024 study published in Preventive Medicine Research & Reviews, which looked at suicide ideation in a sample of 59 LGBTQ+ people in northern India found that 66 percent of them had experienced suicidal thoughts at least once in their lives. And a 2019 meta-analysis on the prevalence of non-suicidal self-injury (NSSI) among lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals found that non-suicidal self-injury prevalence rates were elevated among sexual (29.68 percent lifetime) and gender minority individuals (46.68 percent lifetime) compared to heterosexual and/or cisgender peers (14.57 percent lifetime). The problem, however, lies with broader systems and stressors LGBTQIA+ people interact with.
"Research indicates that individuals from queer communities often face added distress due to societal responses and rejection of their sexuality or gender identity. Constant exposure to external stressors influences a person’s internal coping mechanisms. Over time, this sustained stress impacts the body, mind, and psyche. However, stating that the queer community is inherently more vulnerable to self-harm is problematic. This kind of framing ignores the broader systemic and societal factors at play and unfairly essentializes the experiences of an entire group,” said Arjun Kapoor, Program Director and Senior Research Fellow at the Centre For Mental Health Law & Policy, a Pune-based think tank. “Suicide, in particular, is a highly complex issue with multiple contributing factors. It cannot be reduced to a single cause, such as a person’s sexuality or gender identity. Essentializing something as nuanced as this oversimplifies the issue and undermines the complexity of the research.”
When Pratyusha and Anushree began living together, the nature of the challenge regarding Pratyusha’s ideation of self-harm evolved. As a practising psychologist, Anushree struggled to keep their “therapist hat” separate from their “lover hat.” “In my therapy practice, I come from a school of thought that views self-harm as a coping mechanism—a harm-reduction tool,” Anushree explained. “Self-harm can be a way for some people to relieve their pain, to delay suicide. As therapists, we often discuss safer ways to engage in self-harm with clients, and I strongly stand by that. When it’s your partner, though—when you see them self-harm—it’s so much harder to hold onto that professional objectivity. It is deeply personal, I just don’t want them to self-harm.”
Anushree’s view on self-harm has broad support within the mental health community these days. Arjun explained that sometimes individuals resort to harm reduction because it helps them manage the need for self-harm in a less damaging way. “This can involve what is sometimes called substitution methods which are less harmful,” he added. “For example, instead of cutting, a person might slap themselves with a rubber band or use ice as a coping mechanism. The idea is to guide the person toward safer practices. It might take time for them to reach a point where they can fully replace self-harm with other coping mechanisms."
Arjun added an important caveat: "the effectiveness of harm reduction methods is under-researched," he said, pointing out that World Health Organisation guidelines encourage health practitioners to treat any act of self-harm as a potential warning sign for suicide.
Pratyusha doesn’t keep their medications with them, Anushree takes care of it instead. “I know myself,” Pratyusha said. “I would end up overdosing if they [medicines] were with me.” In fraught moments like this, they hold onto someone else to bring them back into something that feels close to safety. “I tell Anushree, ‘I feel at risk right now. Can you watch something comforting with me? I can’t stay in my head right now.’”
The first time Pratyusha self-harmed during their co-habitation, Anushree felt scared. "I spoke to them [Pratyusha] about it. I asked, 'What support do you require?'" Anushree remembered. They came to realise that Pratyusha’s self-harm was compounded by various struggles—job pressures, lack of family acceptance of their relationship with Anushree, financial stress, and the ongoing challenges of living with neurodivergence and disability.
Anushree said they asked Pratyusha to make an appointment with a psychiatrist to discuss this issue. Pratyusha eventually consulted the new psychiatrist they had been working with earlier in India, who offered them different medications to the ones they had been prescribed in the UK. "Shifting from one medication to another, tapering off—it took time, but it helped," Anushree said.
When Pratyusha tried to self-harm after that, Anushree felt more prepared. "I didn’t spiral or panic like before. I was more present, calmer, and able to offer the support they needed. It felt like I had some control over the situation, even though it’s always hard to witness," Anushree reflected.
Pratyusha said that their episodes of suicidal ideation and self-harm have become less frequent in the 14 months they’ve been with Anushree.
Anushree’s professional training plays a huge role in being able to care for Pratyusha. But a professional degree isn’t a prerequisite to being there for a partner or a friend with mental health issues. The Centre for Mental Health Law & Policy, where Arjun works, runs programs that equip community members with skills for suicide prevention. Since professional mental health services aren’t always accessible to all, these programs aim to create support systems that rely on peers or community members.
Over a phone call, Arjun described to me some ways in which support can be offered to a loved one who may be feeling suicidal. "First, there's empathetic and active listening. Second, it's important to actively explore their negative feelings and encourage them to talk about it. Third, provide affirmative support by validating what they’re going through and acknowledging their pain. Fourth, help them explore sources of motivation and hope in their life—things that could give them a reason to keep living. Problem-solving can also be helpful, as sometimes the person might want to end their life simply to end distress or emotional pain due to a specific issue. If there’s a clear problem they are facing, help them find solutions," he said.
Arjun paused briefly during our call, sighed, and continued, "Sometimes, finding solutions isn't possible and in such cases, it’s about simply providing emotional support, listening, validating their feelings, and just being there for them. Often, people have had no one to talk to or no one who has listened to them in a non-judgmental manner. Delay, distraction, and restricting access to means [of suicide] are also important strategies. Ensuring that harmful items are out of reach, not leaving them unattended—especially if the person is in a distressed state—and developing safety plans are all evidence-based techniques that can make a difference."
Understanding and supporting each other through their respective mental and physical health challenges can sometimes feel like solving an endless puzzle. But given that both Anushree and Pratyusha have navigated mental health challenges for a long time, they have a wealth of shared lived experience to rely on. And when they sit down to talk about their issues, they said they bring everything to the table—except shame.
After moving in together, Anushree said that they ended up taking on more caregiving responsibilities, and felt frustrated at times. Toward the end of their first month living together, Anushree initiated a frank conversation about the frustration. They shared how they felt the burden of caregiving was falling mostly on them and asked for Pratyusha to take on more responsibility. "It wasn’t dramatic," Anushree clarified. "They took note of it. The thing is, if I don’t flag something, it often doesn’t even come into their awareness. Otherwise, they wouldn’t realise that responsibilities are uneven."
Their dynamic has evolved since. "When I get up in the morning, they’re [Pratyusha] the one who makes tea and ensures we have breakfast,” Anushree said “They help with other simple things too, like heating food or organising my laptop after my therapy sessions when I’m low on mental bandwidth."
This wasn’t the first time they had a discussion about caregiving duties. In late May 2024, Anushree had to travel from Delhi to Bombay. "I wasn’t doing well mentally because of family issues," Anushree shared. Feeling emotionally depleted, they communicated to Pratyusha that they didn’t have the bandwidth to support their mental health at that time. Anushree asked Pratyusha to seek help from other support systems.
"I really needed Pratyusha’s support then, but they were also dealing with their mental health. So they [Pratyusha] reached out to their other support systems and also became one of my support systems during that time," said Anushree. For Pratyusha and Anushree, such negotiations are essential to navigating and balancing their individual needs.
While Anushree is mostly glad that they are able to support Pratyusha, they recognise that it often comes at a cost to themself. “What I’m also realising is that, for me to support Pratyusha, I need a support system for myself as well. And I don’t just mean an online support system—I mean having people as a physical support system, too,” Anushree said.
Recognising this need led them to the conclusion that their current living situation—though ideal in many other ways—is unsustainable in the long term. Most of Pratyusha and Anushree’s relationship has been shrouded in uncertainty as to what the future holds for them—where they will live, how they will manage their mental and physical health, and how they will access the support that each of them needs.
“Living together, for us, maybe it’s something we haven’t fully thought through yet,” Pratyusha shared. “Maybe it shouldn’t be just the two of us in a house. Maybe it should be more people—a bigger place, maybe even a commune. It would still be us but with more people around. Because one thing we haven’t been able to explore here is having individual social lives. Our social life is just us. But we need a community to help take care of each other.”
When their relationship was long-distance, Pratyusha and Anushree began archiving their moments together, recording videos every time they met and stayed together. In these videos, they describe where they are and what they’re doing, and indulge in lots of smiling and playful flirting.
“Pratyusha wouldn’t always remember things since they sometimes experience dissociation,” Anushree explained. “And often, there’s this fear that photos alone might not bring back the memories. So videos help as cues to piece together what was happening. It’s a way of ensuring the memory doesn’t feel like it’s lost entirely.” These videos often feature banal moments of everyday life.
I met Pratyusha and Anushree in October 2024. By early January 2025, both had moved out of Mohali—Pratyusha returning to Visakhapatnam and Anushree relocating to Mumbai, each living with their natal families. Now, apart from long phone calls and texts, they relive their memories through the videos they made together.
Pratyusha and Anushree said that while living together deepened their intimacy and interdependency, they don’t view long distance as a deterrent. Even before their time cohabiting, they could nurture closeness, love, and care despite the physical distance. Without looking too far ahead into what the future may hold, they said, they rather nurture the togetherness they create one day at a time.
Note: If you or someone you know are at risk of suicide, please call a crisis helpline for immediate assistance. Here are some phone numbers and additional resources.
https://outlive.in/get-help-now
http://www.aasra.info/helpline.html
https://icallhelpline.org/
If you have any feedback on the story, please write to the managing editor: ankur.paliwal@queerbeat.org
Writer
Sudipta Das (they/them) is an anti-caste queer feminist practitioner, gender expert, and writer, with experience of working on sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR), queer rights, communications, and advocacy. They write on key issues of caste, queerness, health, GBV, and culture.
Editor
Visvak (they/he) is a writer and editor, mostly of narrative nonfiction.
Illustrator
Jose (she/they) is a non-binary illustrator from Kerala whose work highlights personal stories marked by gender, body experiences, and their South Indian heritage. While not lost in their sketchbook, they can be found devouring all things camp and horror.
Producer
Ankur Paliwal (he/him) is an independent journalist, and founder and managing editor of queerbeat.
