The faces in the waiting room unnerved Rupa. Grey clouds drifted over the building mirroring the daze that dulled her mind. She pictured Tia sitting on the couch. A wave of panic surged through her – Tia tried to slip away from life while under her care, leaving Rupa convinced it was her fault. A rush of dread surged through her as the patients walked in, one by one. With one eye on the stopwatch, she heard them, secretly praying the evening would end soon. Only when the waiting room was empty did she breathe a sigh of relief.
The white noise playing in the background unsettled her. She looked at the clock, then at her phone, and chose to go home before her final thread of sanity unravelled. Just then, the door knob turdoorknobshe looked up.
“You called, and I’m here,” said Kiran, her friend and peer psychologist, smiling as he entered.
His receding hairline and softening abs were evident, but his smile remained as captivating as ever.
“Thank you for coming. I needed someone to talk to,” she said, her tone subdued.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her foot tapped restlessly, her eyes gazing at the ceiling. Images of Tia’s mother storming into her office flickered before her.
“My daughter is the scapegoat for your incompetence.” Her words clung to Rupa like a foul reek that refused to leave.
“You can talk to me. For today, I can be both your psychologist and friend,” assured Kiran.
Silence stretched between them for a few minutes.
“My patients are turning to other doctors. I think I’ve reached my limit,” she said, pausing on hearing the door open.
Her assistant walked in with two cups of coffee. She nodded faintly, turning her focus to Kiran.
“One of my patients tried to end her life. Her mother said I was incompetent and chose another practitioner,” she said, gripping the paperweight.
“It’s not your fault. We can’t promise a complete cure,” Kiran remarked.
“What if something had happened to that girl? How would I live with myself?” She said, tears finally leaving her eyes.
“Your job is to listen to your patients and help them overcome their challenges. You aren’t responsible for their choices,” he stated. “Moreover, look at your success rate,” he added.
“That has been long on the decline,” she said, lowering her gaze.
“Allowing yourself to seek help is the greatest strength.” Her own words shot back at her.
She observed that he waited for her to talk, one eye on his watch.
“I find myself dazed, stripped of my confidence. I don’t have faith in myself. Also, I’m unable to focus on my son and the quarrels with my husband weigh heavier,” she said.
The thoughts she had been bottling up were out in the open, and she felt a quiet relief.
“Let’s do one exercise,” he said.
Ignoring her raised eyebrow, he continued, “Write on a piece of paper the pros and cons of this job.”
“I don’t think it will work,” she said, looking away.
“You are on the other side of the table now. You must listen to your doctor,” he said, pushing a notepad towards her.
She fidgeted with a pen when her phone chimed – a quiet reminder of time.
“It’s getting late,” she said, packing her bag. He looked at her, his eyes asking silent questions.
“I’ll finish the exercise at home,” she said.
“I’ll meet you in a couple of days. I need it complete by then,” he said.
“Promise,” she said, flashing a fleeting smile.
As he watched her walk away, he felt a silent pride fill his heart. Rupa seeking his help marked a triumph in his journey. In those college days, he felt a pang of jealousy towards her, though not deep enough to affect their friendship.
In the corner, the assistant scheduled last-minute appointments, shut the computer, wiped the desk, washed the cups, cleared out the garbage and switched off the lights. It was what he did every day. The long waiting time prompted conversation -the attendants shared their concerns, and he listened in silence, not interrupting them. In the flow of conversation, he spoke a sentence or two, his words filled with empathy. He had asked a patient suffering from anxiety to give up therapy and get into the real world and face it. It wasn’t advice – just a statement said in passing. When Tia’s mother wept in the waiting room about her daughter’s panic attacks, he casually mentioned, “Be happy your daughter is with you. I know someone who thought dying was an easier option.” He wasn’t loud. He was calm, stoic, and his words were perfectly measured like an archer’s aim.
Through the window, he watched Rupa’s disappearing silhouette, the woman he had once trusted with his wife’s care. He never attended the sessions with her. But he knew nothing had changed. His wife spoke. Rupa listened. Prescribed medicines. But his wife slipped deeper down the abyss, undermining his faith in therapy. Under the rainy sky he saw the clinic’s signboard shine less brightly. Someday the name would fade away like his wife’s smile. Until then he would do what he did every day – clean, organise, listen and speak balanced words.
