Her Book Man

Chapter 6

Kabir understood that convincing Naina to see a psychiatrist wouldn’t be easy. She was fiercely resistant to the idea, dismissing any suggestion of needing professional help. He knew he had to approach it with patience, trust, and empathy.

One evening, after they had spent hours in the cozy corner of his library talking about books, dreams and songs. Kabir carefully brought up the topic in a roundabout way.

Kabir: "Naina, do you remember the story of Franz Kafka and the doll you loved so much?"

Naina: "Of course. How could I forget? It’s one of my favorites."

Kabir: "Do you ever wonder what gave Kafka the strength to write those letters? To understand the pain of a little girl and create stories to comfort her?"

Naina: "Maybe... he was just really empathetic? He must have known what it felt like to be in pain."

Kabir: [nodding] "Exactly. And he found ways to cope with his own struggles through writing. But do you think he might have had someone to talk to? Someone who helped him make sense of his feelings?"

Naina: [hesitating] "I don’t know... Maybe. But people didn’t talk about these things back then, did they?"

Kabir: "Maybe not openly, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t need help. You know, even the strongest people sometimes need someone to guide them through their storms."

Naina: [looking away] "Are you saying I’m weak, Kabir?"

Kabir: [softly] "No, Naina. I’m saying you’re incredibly strong. But even strong people deserve help. It’s not about being weak—it’s about taking care of yourself. You have so much to give to the world, but you can’t do that if you’re constantly fighting battles alone."

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Kabir didn’t push further that night. Instead, he left her with those words, giving her the space to process them. Over the next few days, he subtly reinforced the idea. He shared stories of people who had sought help and how it had transformed their lives. He encouraged her to read books that subtly addressed mental health struggles and healing, hoping they would resonate with her.

Finally, one day, as they sat in the library, Naina looked up from a book and said, almost hesitantly, "Kabir, if I wanted to talk to someone... someone who might understand me better... would you come with me?"

Kabir smiled, hiding the relief and joy that surged through him. "Of course, Naina. I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way."

And true to his word, he accompanied her to the psychiatrist’s clinic, holding her hand as she took that brave first step toward understanding and healing.

"The place where my family left me alone, he is here with me, holding my hand as if his life depends on me.

Naina stood still, her eyes fixed on the worn bench in front of her. It looked the same as it did years ago—the peeling paint, the cracked wood. The air around her felt heavy, suffocating, carrying the ghosts of memories she had buried deep. She glanced at Kabir, his hand wrapped around hers, grounding her in the present.

"This... this is where they left me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was sixteen. It was raining that day. I watched their car drive away, thinking they'd come back. But they never did."

Kabir's grip on her hand tightened slightly. He didn’t speak right away, but his silence spoke volumes. He was giving her space, letting her unravel the knots of her past at her own pace.

Naina let out a shaky breath. "For years, I thought it was my fault. Maybe I was too much for them, or not enough. I kept waiting for them to come back to me emotionally, even after I knew they wouldn’t." She looked down, her vision blurring with unshed tears. "This place... it felt like the end of everything."