The Therapy

The clock ticked steadily, filling the silent room with its hypnotic rhythm. It was evening 4:05 pm, Dr. Meera Purushottam a 31 years old psychiatrist adjusted her glasses, her crisp grey cotton saree lending her an air of elegance and authority. Her almond-shaped eyes, sharp and observant. Meera was renowned in Bengaluru as one of the most promising psychiatrists, her calm demeanour and empathetic approach earning her the trust of many troubled minds. The faint scent of orchids from the diffuser mingled with the antiseptic tang of the clinic’s air, creating an oddly unsettling mix. Her office was a reflection of her own meticulous nature: everything was in its place. The walls were painted a crisp, off-white, and the furniture was modern and minimalist. Her desk was impeccably organized, with only essential items: a pen holder, a notepad, a clock and her laptop, a beige colour couch was placed across her desk. The blinds on the window were precisely angled, allowing just the right amount of sunlight to filter through. There was a sense of order and control in the room, a feeling that everything was under Meera's watchful eye. The only touch of warmth was a small, intricately carved wooden statue on her desk, a gift from a grateful patient.

Meera was reviewing Arya Verma's file, her brow furrowed in concentration, when a gentle knock sounded on her door. "Come in," she said, without looking up.

The door opened, and Nurse Priya's cheerful voice filled the room. "Dr. Purushottam, Mr. Verma is here for his appointment."

Meera looked up, a professional smile replacing her frown. "Thank you, Priya. Please send him in."

Priya nodded and stepped aside, allowing Arya to enter. He offered a polite nod to Meera as he walked in.

Arya Verma sat across from Meera on the couch, a man in his late twenties with silky hair with tint of copper and dark eyes. Despite diagnosed for Post Traumatic amnesia by the Dean, Arya displayed an air of confidence that seemed out of place. He was in his formal attire, sky-blue shirt, black trousers, golden frame spectacles and black leather belt matching the shoes. He sat with a poise that made it hard to believe he was a patient. He stared out of the window through the gaps in between the blinds, the sunlight playing across his face, his expression unreadable.

"Tell me, Arya," Meera began, her voice gentle and reassuring, "There's no rush. Just tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing." She offered a warm, encouraging smile. "This is a safe space, and everything we discuss will remain confidential."

Arya remained silent for a moment; his gaze still fixed on the outside world. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock on Meera's desk and the faint hum of the air conditioning. Finally, he turned his head, his dark eyes meeting Meera's.

"It's… difficult," he said, his voice low and measured. "It's like trying to grasp smoke. I know something happened… they told me it was a car accident. But… there's nothing. Just… blanks." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "Like a film reel that's been cut. Entire sections missing."

"That's perfectly understandable, Arya," Meera reassured him. "Trauma can have a profound impact on memory. It's not uncommon for the mind to block out traumatic events as a way of protecting itself." She paused, giving him a moment to process her words. "Can you recall anything at all? Even small details?”

Arya tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the sunlight filtering through the blinds. "Flashes," he murmured, his voice low and measured. "Broken glass, a scream... and then nothing."

Meera nodded, her pen hovering above the paper. Arya was unable to recall about the accident. “It feels like I was not there”. It looked as if he were observing Meera as much as Meera was observing him.

"Do you ever feel like... you’re someone else?" Meera asked cautiously, adjusting her glasses.

Arya’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Do you?"

"That's not what we're discussing, Arya." she replied, her voice calm and even. "My focus is on understanding your experience. These feelings of detachment or… unfamiliarity… are common after trauma. It's a way the mind copes."

"Perhaps the trauma isn't something to be overcome, but… an awakening."

Meera made a quick note, her pen scratching softly against the paper. "An awakening?" she prompted gently. "In what way?"

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low. "Awakening to the truth, the truth about who we really are." He paused. Arya simply smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile that sent a chill through her. He then looked at his watch it was 4:45pm and said "our time is up for today doctor". He stood up and offered a polite nod and walked out of the cabin.

Meera sat there for a moment; the silence of the room amplified by the sudden departure of Arya. The ticking of the clock seemed louder now, each tick a stark reminder of the unsettling encounter.

That night, A car, headlights blazing, skidded on a rain-slicked road. The screech of tires and the shattering of glass filled the air, cutting through the chaos, a faint, high-pitched cry echoed, piercing the din, Shards of glass raining like stars. She jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat that night. Meera thought for a second why is the accident in dream closer to Arya’s case, Why did it feel so real? She reached for her phone to check the time—3:27 a.m. With a sigh, she pushed the covers aside and walked to the kitchen of her modest apartment, hoping a cup of warm water would calm her.

As the kettle boiled, she caught her reflection in the kitchen window. For a moment, it didn’t feel like her. The woman staring back into her soul covered with blood, her eyes shadowed by exhaustion and something else she couldn’t name. She turned away quickly.

The next day, Arya arrived promptly at the scheduled time, a polite knock preceding his entrance. Nurse Priya ushered him in with a brief, professional smile. Arya offered Meera a curt nod as he settled into the same spot on the couch as before. Today, he was dressed in a dark grey shirt.

“How are you feeling today, Arya?” Meera began, trying to keep her voice even and professional, despite the unsettling feeling that she was the one being evaluated.

“Intrigued,” he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Did you… reflect on our last conversation?” Arya asked in a soft tone.

Meera’s hand tightened slightly on her pen. “I’ve been reviewing my notes,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We discussed your fragmented memories of the accident, the… feeling of not being present.”

“And the cry,” Arya added softly, his eyes fixed on hers. “The baby’s cry.”

The mention of the cry sent a fresh wave of unease through Meera. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes,” she acknowledged. “You mentioned a faint, high-pitched cry.”

Arya leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's a persistent sound, isn't it? One that lingers… even in your dreams."

Meera was shocked for a second, how could he possibly know about her dreams?

"What do you mean, Arya?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Arya leaned back in his chair; his posture relaxed. "I’ve been thinking," he said, his tone almost playful. "What if the accident wasn’t an accident?"

Meera frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a thought," Arya replied, shrugging. "I’ve heard that sometimes, the mind protects us by creating stories, doesn’t it? To hide what we’re not ready to face."

Meera’s pen stilled on the page. "Are you suggesting you’re hiding something?"

Arya’s eyes locked onto hers. "Maybe we both are."

The words struck Meera like a physical blow. Her vision blurred for a moment, and she felt dizzy. When she looked up, Arya was smiling faintly, as if he’d just won a game Meera didn’t know they were playing.

The room seemed to shift, the walls closing in. Meera’s vision blurred, and she felt herself falling, tumbling through a void and drifted into a dream.

Meera opened her eyes to the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The hum of medical equipment filled the air, and the faint scent of antiseptic stung her nostrils.

A nurse entered, her face lighting up with a relieved smile. “Dr. Kumar! Dr. Purushottam is awake!” she called out, her voice carrying a note of urgency. She hurried to Meera’s side, checking her pulse and adjusting the IV drip connected to her arm. “Welcome back, Dr. Purushottam. You’ve been out for a month.”

A moment later, Dr. Satish Kumar entered the room, his face etched with concern that quickly shifted to relief as he saw Meera’s open eyes. “Meera! Thank goodness,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He approached the bed, his eyes searching hers. “How are you feeling?”

Meera blinked, trying to focus on his face. Her thoughts were sluggish, her memory fragmented. “I… I don’t know,” she managed, her voice hoarse and weak. “My head… it hurts.”

“That’s to be expected,” Dr. Kumar reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “You were in an accident, Meera. A bad one. You’ve been in a coma for a month.”

Meera’s mind raced. The last thing she remembered was stepping out of her house that morning. But beyond that, everything was a blur. She vaguely nodded, not wanting to appear confused.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the head of the psychiatric department, Dr. Vikram Nair, walked in. His expression was a mix of relief and concern. “Meera, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she replied.

Although Meera's physical wounds were healing well in the days following the accident, her mental state remained deeply troubled. She had no recollection of the crash itself, nor of the devastating loss of her newborn son, Aarav.

Dr. Nair grew increasingly concerned. “Meera,” he said during one of his visits, his hand hovering over her chart, “it’s not uncommon for trauma victims to suppress memories. But your case… You’ve completely blocked out the accident and, more alarmingly, Aar…” He trailed off, his gaze softening.

Meera said, "But I can assure you one thing Vikram, I will be alright once I get back into the practice don’t worry, this… this is just a temporary setback.”

The lines between reality and illusion began to blur.

“Meera,” Arya said gently, she opened her eyes in a trembled state

“Are you alright?” Arya asks and offers a glass of water.

Meera takes a sip and says I am sorry, I drifted into a dream, Arya's reaction was one of anticipation; he'd been expecting this. He saw the suspicion forming in her eyes, the beginning of understanding. He decided it was best to tell her the truth directly, before she drew her own, potentially inaccurate, conclusions. "It's time to face the truth Meera" he said. Meera frowned. “What truth?”

Arya’s lips curved into a sad, almost apologetic smile. “The truth, Meera, is that, You’re not my psychiatrist, I am yours.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Meera stared at him, her mind reeling. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice full of disbelief.

Arya leaned back in his chair, “You were the one in the accident, Meera. You’ve been suppressing your memories, creating an alternate reality where you’re still in control. But you’re not. You’ve been my patient all along.”

Meera’s head spun. “No... that’s not possible. I’ve been practicing for years.”

Arya continued, his voice steady and soft. “The idea was unconventional; I’ll grant you that. But he believed it was necessary. You were… enthusiastic, perhaps too enthusiastic, to return to practice after the accident. Dr. Vikram Nair couldn't, in good conscience, allow someone suffering from po.. post-traumatic amnesia to continue treating patients. It would have put them at risk. Not only that, but the hospital’s reputation would have been at stake.” He paused, a flicker of something that might have been sympathy crossing his face. “He knew you’d never accept being a patient outright. Not someone like you, Meera—someone so accomplished, so used to being in control of everyone else’s struggles.” Meera’s breath hitched, but she said nothing, her eyes fixed on Arya. He pressed on.

"I took on the role with a clear goal in mind—to help you find your way back to the truth. When you read my file, which technically is yours, you subconciously wanted to help a person who is going through the same i.e., person suffering from post-traumatic amnesia after a car accident. You were eager to dive back into your work, so naturally, you accepted the challenge of helping me recover."

He paused, watching her reaction before continuing. "Our sessions began innocuously. I spoke of flashes of memory—a scream, broken glass, and a baby’s cry. You listened so intently, your pen moving effortlessly across your journal. But as we talked, I noticed something... something shifting within you."

Meera’s lips parted, but no words came. Arya’s tone softened as he continued.

Arya’s gaze lingered on Meera, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. "Those questions, Meera—it unsettled you. I could see it in the way you froze for a moment, the way your eyes flickered with something unspoken. But you shook it off, returned to your notes, and moved on."

Arya’s tone darkened slightly as he added, "That night, I know you dreamed about the accident. Flashes of skidding tires, shattering glass, and a faint cry. You woke up in a cold sweat, didn’t you? Your heart pounding, your hands trembling."

Meera sat back, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow.

"The dreams grew more vivid, didn’t they? you started questioning everything. Your reality. Your memories."

Meera exhaled deeply, letting the weight of his words sink in Meera’s vision blurred, she felt herself falling, closed her eyes. Arya became quite as she fainted.

Meera opened her eyes for the sound of the clock. The room was silent, the faint scent of orchid in the air. She adjusted her glasses, reaching for her pen.

"Tell me, Arya," Meera began, her voice gentle and reassuring, There's no rush. Just tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing." She offered a warm, encouraging smile. "This is a safe space, and everything we discuss will remain confidential." As if nothing happened.

Arya tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the sunlight filtering through the blinds. "Flashes," she murmured. "Broken glass, a scream... and then nothing."

Meera nodded, her pen hovering above the paper. 

The clock ticked steadily, filling the silent room with its hypnotic rhythm.