‘A rug, a—.’

‘No,’ he interrupted me, ‘with details, please.’ More pain pressed on my chest. I tried to focus, tried to work through what was happening to me.

‘A burgundy rug,’ I managed finally.

‘Good, continue please.’

‘A wooden desk, a black office chair, a leather couch and a large bookshelf,’ I rushed through the list of things I could see, wondering what the point of this was.

‘Good. Now four things you can hear.’

‘A clock, the wind, traffic, um,’ I stopped for a second, trying to focus, ‘a phone. I hear a phone.’

‘Great, Ashray. Now, three things you can smell right now.’ My confusion grew, but I felt like I should comply.

‘My cologne, the leather from the couches, and coffee.’

‘How are you feeling, Ashray?’ I was bewildered, unable to understand what was happening. ‘Ashray, are you still having a panic attack?’ I shook my head, shocked that something so simple had worked that quickly.

‘No … no, I’m not.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Should we try this again? Please have a seat anywhere you’re comfortable.’ I sat on the two-seater couch, where I was sure the woman who was in here before had sat. It seemed comfortable. Safe.

‘What brings you here today?’ he asked. I leaned back and moaned. What hadn’t brought me here today?

‘Would you like to meet me for coffee after your session?’ the woman who had become the reason for me to come to therapy asked. I didn’t know how to respond initially. Dr Shyam and I were working on me being less dependent, less attached to the people who came into my life. I was worried that I wasn’t quite at the stage where I would be able to accept an invite from her without becoming dependent on her. She was incredibly beautiful and, over the course of her sessions, I could see that she was beginning to find her way again. Long gone was the woman who had clutched a cushion to her chest. And me? I still had panic attacks, but through the doctor’s grounding techniques, I was able to manage them a lot better. Although not all the techniques worked, and sometimes those that did usually work failed to pull me out of a full-blown attack, I had reached a point where I was able to return to work, return to some semblance of normality.

I followed the receptionist through to the doctor’s room, in the same way that I had for the last few weeks. Dr Shyam was waiting for me at the door, hand outstretched. He was constant, the same way my Maa had been, and I often thought that perhaps I had found another crutch. Another person to latch onto.

Towards the end of the session, he said, ‘So, I wanted
to talk about your relationship with Sakshi.’ I wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to open up about why her betrayal cut so deep.