Faasla

Four

It had been a week since I signed the contract, and truth to be told, it was one of the longest seven days of my life.

Throughout, I felt under the cloud, as though someone mercilessly sucked the meaning and purpose out of my life. I went through a spectrum of emotions; on some mornings, I'd be filled with the kind of anger that destroyed me, and on other days, a soul-sucking sadness would weigh me down. However I felt and whatever I went through, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling with tears unknowingly pouring out of the corners of my eyes.

I couldn't wait to return to school and reunite with the kids. The fact that I was sitting idle in a house - that was as big as a football pitch with no one around - added on to my feelings.

I had absolutely no idea about Darshan Raval. I didn't know when he returned from his studio, or whether he was at home at all. On the night we got married, I entered my bedroom and I haven't stepped out ever since. I didn't want to run into the chances of bumping into him. I have a strong feeling that I'd break down into tears or say something absolutely rude to him.

I thought about everything that went down between us, and came to a realisation that it was pointless fighting with him. Whether I yelled at him or kept my silence, he had the upper hand over me. So I'd rather preserve my peace of mind and the little sanity I'm left with.

On a Sunday, I heard a soft knock on the door and a moment later, it swung open. A tall, lean lady with long, straightened black hair smiled at me. She wasn't one of the servants, nor his assistant.

"Navya?", she calls out and slowly, I rise to my feet, putting the TV remote away. "Yes. And, you are?", I look at her with curiosity. "I'm Sanchi. Your therapist", she tells me and I stare at her in sheer confusion. What's this novel drama about now?

"My therapist? For?", I question. "Mr. Raval's assistant said that you haven't stepped out of your bedroom in a week and that they believe you're having a depressive episode. They thought it was safe for me to check on you", she informs and all the anger that boiled down over the past few days resurfaces yet again.

"May I come in?", she smiles at me. "No!", I straight out tell her and she furrows her eyebrows. "I'm alright. There must've been a misunderstanding. Thank you for coming all the way to check on me, though", I force a smile at her, holding back from creating a scene.

"I'm his official therapist. He visits me, too, occasionally. You can trust me with your stories", she goes on and it actually gets on my nerves. "I said, I'm okay. With all due respect, would you please leave?", my voice grows louder and within a moment, she fades away into thin air.

I pace around the bedroom for around five minutes before fishing the contract from the bedside drawer and march into the living room, where Darshan Raval is slumped back on the couch, enjoying a football match.

"You never told me you were a certified psychologist!", I slam the contract on the table and cross my arms against my chest, towering over him this time. He turns down the television volume and looks around at his servants, who clear the space within a blink of an eye.

"Sorry, what?", he looks up at me, taking a sip of his frothy coffee. "What made you think that I needed a therapist?", I question. "You were in your room the whole week and the servants told me that you cried all day and didn't eat your meals", he shrugs. "You fooled me into this marriage. What else do you expect me to do? Play some music and dance around?", I lash out.

"And why do you even care?", I scoff. "I don't care, but I cannot let you compromise on your health because I'll be answerable to your dad!", he reasons. "I'm suffering with my mental health because of the trauma you gave me, Darshan Raval! And don't you ever think that calling a therapist will compensate for all the damage you have caused!", I warn him and he listens on in silence.