Panic attacks; I rubbed my forehead—how weak was I? It would be so much easier if there were something physically wrong with me, but the truth was that, going home, back to the apartment where my life changed, did throw me into a panic. All her things were there, our whole lives together. The pressure began to build again and I put my hand on the wall to steady myself.

‘Ashray, breathe.’ I tried to listen to his instruction, knowing he was a doctor, trusting that he knew what he was talking about. ‘Here.’ He handed me a pill, and spoke encouragingly to me until the feeling passed.

‘How long are these going to last?’ I asked finally, unsure that I wanted an answer.

‘Panic attacks are complicated, Ashray. For many years, we thought that they were entirely psychological, but lately, we have discovered that they may be neurological as well.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you need to take your medication and see a psychiatrist as soon as possible.’ I nodded. ‘So, I’m signing you out, you can leave in an hour.’

I fixed my gaze outside, on a woman walking through the parking area; her mother, father, and what might have been her sister were leaving, supporting her as they walked towards a waiting taxi. And me? I would be leaving alone. I had no one left. Absolutely nobody on earth who loved me unconditionally anymore. The only person who would care if the ground swallowed me up would be Rishi. I would need to let him know I was leaving in an hour; he was constantly messaging, trying to find out if I was coping.

‘Coping’; such an ambiguous word. Was ‘coping’ being alive, but no longer living? Because if that was what it was, then, yes, I was coping.

I opened the overnight bag Rishi had packed three nights ago. I didn’t have a set of clothes to change into, and would need to go home in my suit trousers and shirt or in the tracksuit I had been wearing for the last two days. I slipped my trousers on, buttoning up my shirt, determined to walk out of the hospital looking decent. I picked up my bag, signed out in the register and, hoping to avoid Sakshi, made my way downstairs and out the hospital doors.

The feeling of being outside was overwhelming—I felt more confined in the open than I had in my hospital room. Remembering what the doctor had said, I concentrated on my breathing. It didn’t work. My heart began to pound, and blood rushed to my head. I ran to the side of the road and stuck out my hand, hoping that a taxi would stop immediately. Luckily, one did, and I flung open the car door and dove into the safe confines of the vehicle, slamming the door behind me.