━ INTRODUCING SAMAIRA MALLYA.
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name: Samaira Mallya
birthday: October 22nd 1984
age: 41
gender: cis female
pronouns: She/Her
face claim: Deepika Padukone
occupation: Ob/Gyn at Elite Wellness Collective
neighborhood: Suburbs
hometown: Seattle, Washington
B I O G R A P H Y ;
There’s an unmistakable presence to Samaira Mallya: the kind that doesn’t announce itself loudly, but settles into a room like a low hum of confidence. It’s in the way she stands, the controlled grace in her movements, the quiet certainty of a woman who has held life, and loss, in her palms more times than she can count. At forty-one, she carries herself with the poise of someone who has rebuilt herself more than once and learned that survival can be its own type of elegance.
Samaira grew up in a family of five in Seattle, wedged neatly between an older sister who always had the answers and a younger brother who always needed rescuing. Middle-child energy became a personality trait — capable, steady, the family’s backbone when no one asked her to be. She learned to keep the peace, to move quickly, to be reliable. Somewhere along the way, she also learned that people mistake competence for invulnerability.
Medicine wasn’t a calling as much as it was a gravitational pull. She'd spent a lot of her teenage formative years volunteering at women's shelters and somewhere that sparked the interest for her. She entered obstetrics and gynecology expecting science but she found devotion instead. Delivering babies became the closest thing she’d ever experienced to awe. Helping someone conceive after years of heartbreak felt like witnessing a miracle from the front row. Her work carved her, hardened her in some places and softened her in others, and she wears those edges proudly.
Her life in New York was supposed to be stable — career, marriage, the illusion of a future neatly mapped out. But marriages end in a hundred small ways long before the paperwork is filed, and hers was no different. He wanted one kind of life; she wanted another. And somewhere between the late-night shifts and the emotional exhaustion, they looked at each other one day and realized the fight to stay together was hurting more than it was healing.
So when the position at Elite Wellness Collective appeared, Windsor Bay became the unexpected exit ramp. How could she have refused it? Her mentor was retiring and the only person she wanted in her place was Samaira. That level of respect was immense for her and so she took it. Packed her things. Signed the divorce papers. Flew back west with more relief than regret. Now, she’s been here two days — just long enough for the air to feel familiar but not long enough for the memories to sting. Windsor Bay was a place she once imagined settling in over a decade ago. Life rerouted her then. Now, it has brought her back, older, wiser, and a little more impatient with anything that wastes her time.
People often call her intimidating before they call her kind, and Samaira doesn’t mind that. She’d rather be respected first, compassion can come later, and usually does. She’s arrogant in the way people become after fighting for every inch of their career. Judgmental because she expects excellence. Impatient because she’s spent too many nights holding someone’s hand while their world shook apart. But she’s also the woman who cries silently after complicated deliveries, who keeps thank-you notes from former patients in a box she hasn’t unpacked yet, who feels safest when rain taps against her windows while she drinks a cup of strong coffee she definitely judges others for not brewing correctly.
She didn’t return to Windsor Bay to start over — but maybe something inside her is doing exactly that. Quietly. Cautiously. One step at a time, and only at her pace.
H E A D C A N O N S ;
Rain is her sanctuary. Thunderstorms settle her nerves. She’ll sit in silence, just listening, tea or coffee warming her palms. It’s the one space where she’s allowed to unravel a little.
Sentimental in secret. She keeps every handwritten patient letter. Every photo given to her as thanks. She hides them in a box that she doesn't open, just keeps to remind herself after a particular hard day.
She drives like she’s late even when she’s early. Fast, focused, one hand on the wheel, one eyebrow raised at anyone going even slightly below the limit.
Her heart wants softness but her mind fears it. The divorce didn’t break her , but the loneliness does every day. Now she’s cautious, deliberate, protective of her pace when it comes to letting anyone in.
She treats competence like a love language. Fixing your collar, correcting your form while you chop vegetables, handing you meds because you “forgot again.” It’s care disguised as efficiency.
She doesn't know if she'll be able to have her own kids anymore, but is thinking about adoption. Not because she doesn’t love them, she does, fiercely, but because she isn’t sure she wants to share that part of herself with someone unless they’re absolutely right.
Her house is spotless, but she lives off takeout. She likes being healthy--really she does, but after late nights she's just so exhausting to cook something. Every single Sunday she decides she's going to meal prep...and then doesn't.
