To the rest of the world my grieving was over; there were no tears left to shed, not for those who spent their time around me. But the worst kind of pain doesn’t manifest itself in external tears, but in the tears that come from your soul. The type that shatter your heart, fragmenting the person you once were.

Taking the bus home was a mistake; the feeling of panic all too familiar and uncomfortable. The pressure on my chest began almost the second the bus started to move. I ran my hands over my briefcase, taking in the texture, trying to remain conscious and aware of my surroundings. It didn’t seem to work. Five senses, I told myself. Recounting what I saw, heard, smelled, felt and touched, over and over again, stopped the attack, but I could still feel it inside me, pounding its fists on my soul, demanding to be let out. Going home was a mistake, I knew this. Knew that I should have scheduled an appointment with Dr Shyam, but we were working on being more independent, on taking control and making my own decisions. Learning how to be comfortable in my own company. How weak would I look if I booked a third appointment for the week, just because it was Maa’s birthday?

I opened my door, set my keys on the side table the way I used to when we were in the old apartment, and removed my jacket, tie and shoes at the door. I felt the cold tiles through my socks and breathed in, willing myself to be present. Putting my briefcase on the kitchen counter, I walked through to the balcony doors, opening them wide. A cool breeze filtered into the apartment and the Mumbai skyline glittered in hues of orange and gold against the black night sky. Perhaps I should have bought a table for the outside? The one she wanted. Invited Rishi over for dinner, similar to the one we had the night everything fell apart. My grief still felt too personal, too raw to share though. What if I fell apart? Would Rishi still want to be in my life if he saw that I was still broken?