A story of a wife retuned from abroad. A Pandora of secrets hanging around her neck like a noose.
A story of a husband standing at crossroads, not knowing what brought him there in the first place. Him or his ambitions?
A story of a nasty divorce c...
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"Our bodies heal without permission but our hearts need consent. Give it."
~Lauren Eden.
"Would you like some coffee? Or green tea?"
The calm yet confident voice held a ring of reassurance to it. The reassurance that whatever be the problem, the solution wasn't out of one's reach.
Contrary to the assuring prelude, the timid and shaky voice of "No, thank you", held bouts of anxiety.
"So tell me, how can I help you?"
Naisha twisted the strap of her tote bag between her fingers. She looked into the camera for a beat longer before blinking her eyes and unsurely said, "I don't know from where to begin."
"Introductions?" A second missed and then came the follow up sentence. "The easiest way to start any conversation."
The undertone of welcoming warmth and understanding could not only be heard but also felt.
"I'm sorry I skipped the basic etiquette." Naisha's nerves eased by negative degree as the enormity of the situation she'd landed herself into hit her hard. "I'm Naisha.... Naisha......Mehra", she fumbled out.
"Since you are already here I assume you know my name. Still let me introduce myself; Sehaj Dhar here."
Naisha took the forwarded hand tentatively and shook it with the same feeling of unease.
"Doctor Dhar."
"Please call me Sehaj."
"Sehaj, well......"
Naisha very discreetly ran the tip of her tongue on her dried lips. She took a moment and with no conscious effort caressed her barely there baby bump.
Her jumbled thoughts and haywire hormones did her no good. So she went with the script she had written yesterday for this impending doom she had willing walked into.
"I'm pregnant."
"Wow!........... Congratulations!"
"Thank you. I'm here because....." Naisha couldn't remember the next line she'd mugged up. For straight one minute she tried her best to get a hang on her receding memory. But nothing knocked at the closed doors of her sleeping brain. So she hastily blurted out, "Idon'twantmydepressiontoaffectmybaby."
( I don't want my depression to affect my baby.)
The second the words were out of her mouth, Naisha wanted to shoot her brains out. She was utterly embarrassed. So she hid her face in her palms.
For few minutes there was no response to what she'd said. And when the quiet stretched longer, she looked up, away from the refuge of her hands.
"Depression?" At last a question! Seems like the therapist was waiting for Naisha to look at her. "First tell me how do you know you're depressed?"
