Living in a Mirage

Prologue

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You are no delusion - no mirage, but Rima, like no other being on earth.

Green Mansions

W. H. Hudson

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It was early in the morning when Jahangir Shah, one of the famous psychiatrists in London, entered the reception area of his studio. Wishing Mrs. Jackson, the receptionist, a less-busy morning, he walked towards his study.

Less-busy was all he wanted to be on the last day of work before the vacation.

A much-needed family vacation.

Right before his eldest daughter's wedding preparations began. Naaz, the most favorite child of his, was going to start a new life; that was all he could think of. He was going to miss her and their late-night chats about anything and everything.

'A cup of black coffee made by my Naaz, and her sweet voice, that's all I needed those nights to stay awake to continue my work,' Shah sighed while closing the door of his study.

When he reached his desk, he paused, hearing the voices coming from outside. Before he could turn to check what was going on, the reason behind the chaos entered the study himself - without knocking the door - in all his arrogant glory.

"Doctor Shah, I tried. But as always, he won't listen to me," his receptionist cried out, even though none ever blamed her. Ever since she started to work for him, she had always been extra worried about getting into trouble or somehow offending her new boss or to be thought of as incompetent.

"It's okay, Mrs. Jackson," Shah reassured. She wasn't at fault; a few months more and she too will become used to the violent intrusions. It has happened far too many times in the past three years for him to be offended by it.

"Do I have any other appointments in the next hour?" Though he knew the answer.

"No, Doctor Shah."

"Good. Thanks, Marie. I'll take it from here," Shah looked at the young man. In his mid-twenties, he was standing aloof, gaze fixed leftward, seemingly unaffected by conversation.

"Of course, Doctor Shah," Mrs Jackson said, closing the door behind her.

Shah looked up at the clock and couldn't help but sigh. It was too early for what was about to come. Although he came early every morning, he preferred to start working only after 10 AM, till then, he enjoyed sipping a cup of strong black coffee as he thought about the topic of lectures he had to give that day, coming up with something interesting for his university students. That was the routine of his weekdays; nothing and no one was to disturb him, well, apart from the young man now standing in front of him.

Shah received substantial payment for listening to the delusions and illusions of a rich Indian man's sole heir, yet this financial compensation wasn't the sole factor behind Shah's continued interest in the case. No, it had more to do with the fact that he was almost fond of the delusional kid who had taken it upon himself to ruin his one-hour peace almost every other day. Be it early mornings or late evenings, whenever he wanted to, he came to meet Shah to tell him about every new explanation he came up with after his episodes. Well, episodes for Shah and others, the young man thought of them as the memories of the two years of his life that he had forgotten.

The young man struck Shah as particularly interesting upon their first encounter. But nowadays, it was becoming boring, so tiring, and Shah could feel nothing but frustration over the inability of the young man to move on from those two years.

'Could this guy go on for just one week without torturing me with his overactive imagination?' 

Shah sighed, settling onto his chair, then observed the young man. If there was anyone else in the room, apart from the two, they would have said that the guy dressed in white, standing still with his arms wrapped around his chest with his eyes fixed on the floor, was as emotionless as his face showed him to be. But Shah was not just anyone. He knew that young man who had subjected him to many intrusions over the past three years. The same tapping feet, the fists clenched tightly, and the arms wrapped around the chest, as if he was holding his broken pieces together.

Though he knew how to mask everything well, Shah would give him some credit. But by now, Shah could recognize the turmoil behind the impassive face and the still body. He had studied the young man long enough to point out. 

"Come sit," he invited the younger one to sit on one chair on the other side of the desk.

Resting his elbows on the desk, Shah waited, knowing very well that the impatient soul now sitting in front of him wouldn't take long to open up. Shah deduced the young man's sleepless night from his wrinkled white shirt.

Shah wondered how the young man must have been during his teenage years. Wild yet determined, arrogant but kindhearted, that's what the father of the young man told him his kid had been before his accident in which he nearly lost his life. And now he was reduced to a broken man who desperately wanted his illusions to be real. Who, now was sitting in front of him, was probably wishing nothing more than to have finally found something which proved 'She' was real.

Shah looked up at the clock which indicated that it has been ten minutes, ten minutes of complete silence, without a word from the young man who had entered in his office as if his life depends on talking to him, as soon as possible. Shah knew, whatever it is this time around, it must be very personal to the young man. With years, Shah has found out that his patient was very possessive and protective of the episodes he kept having, and why won't he? After all, he thought of them as the memories of his'She'...

Apart from the voice of a foot tapping in restless energy, there was silence in the room, until the young man wearing wrinkled white shirt said the words he had been saying ever since Shah had met him.

"She is real. I know you won't believe me, no one does, but she is real." the young man said in a determined voice which had an undertone of absolute desperation...

'Here we go again,' Shah thought with a sigh...