Shadows Of Autumn

Chapter 3

I swear I've no real idea how psychiatrists and trauma counsellors deal with patients with amnesia. The conversation written below is solely based on my Google findings. If there are any errors, any discrepancies, kindly pardon me.

As always, eager to know your thoughts. 

*****

Three days.

Three days since their visit to the mall, and three days since Armaan had last seen Abhira's smile – the kind that was warm and carefree, the one that always lit up her face with the kind of glow he could never tire of. In its place was a quiet that had settled over her like a dense fog he couldn't break through to reach her.

The slipping away had begun subtly.

The night after their visit to the mall, she had been restless in the bed, tossing and turning, her brows knitting in worry even as she slept. Armaan had stirred beside her, drawn from his own slumber by her uneasy movements. He'd brushed his hand across her arm, hoping to soothe her back to sleep, and murmured her name. She had quieted under his touch, but only for a few minutes before slipping back into the same agitated state. When he gently woke her the next morning, she looked up at him, her eyes distant, as though seeing someone or something that wasn't there. He kissed her forehead, offering her a soft smile, hoping it might bring her back to him, but her gaze had shifted away, her mind clearly still tangled in a dream—or a memory—she couldn't escape. She said little that morning, going through the motions of their usual routine as though in a trance.

In the days that followed, he tried to coax her into conversation, hoping to pierce through the silence that had wrapped around her. But every attempt was met with the same distant nods, the same absent-minded responses. Even his gentle teasing, usually something that could bring a smile to her face, now fell flat. She would smile, but it was faint, half hearted and hollow. One evening, he caught her as she absently ran her fingers along her stomach, a soft, almost subconscious caress as if she were holding on to something from deep within. Then, as though realising what she was doing, she shook her head, her hand falling to her side as she pulled herself back to reality. It broke his heart to watch her like this, so lost and fragile. He thought back to the early days after her accident, the empty gazes she'd give him sometimes, that look of detached confusion, like he was a stranger in a world she no longer knew. Now he could feel her slipping back into that void once again and it terrified him.

Desperate, Armaan even enquired their family, probing to see if someone might have inadvertently let something slip, anything that might have triggered the nightmares she was facing. But each one had denied it, assuring him that they had spoken of nothing that might stir her old memories. No one had said anything that might disturb her, they insisted, and the certainty in their voices only mounted to Armaan's helplessness and frustration.

That evening, after a long day at the firm, Armaan climbed the stairs to their room, mentally planning the conversation he was supposed to have with her psychiatrist later in the night. He opened the door, stepping into a darkness that enveloped the space like a heavy blanket. Frowning, he switched on the light cautiously, squinting against the sudden brightness.

As his eyes adjusted, he found Abhira sleeping on the bed, her face turned away from him. It struck him as strange to see her resting at this time. He walked closer and noticed something in her hand—a small pair of baby socks, coloured in pink, they had bought together during that hopeful time, planning for a future they were building bit by bit.

The sight stopped him cold.

How did Abhira manage to find these? He was sure he had carefully hidden them in the safety of the store room. Yet here they were, cradled in her hand. Had she gone to search for them intentionally? Or did she find them by chance, leading to her recent nightmares? The uncertainty gnawed at him.