❝and i will try to fix you.❞
JUN 27,
one month and twenty-seven
days after the funeral.
EVERYTHING
felt white, probably too much for nisha's taste, who loved colours so much. the couch she was sitting on, the lamp and the light it gave off, the walls, the ceiling and the psychologist's hair; everything was immaculate with white. the more she stared, the more she wanted to get out of there. a bad feeling caught her by the throat and no matter how much she swallowed, it persisted. still unable to determine where it came from, the green notebook the woman had just opened on her lap finally jogged nisha's memory and she sank into a scowl in her seat.
with her jerky breath, she tried her best not to think about it, to put the memory aside, but to no avail, the walls of the hospital during that bloody morning kept popping up like flashes on a loop. it was then her mother's cries and her father's livid body on his deathbed which came back to her mind, and it was enough to make her feel paralyzed with fear. although nisha knew that she was here to talk about and heal from all these traumatic memories, it seemed that she had underestimated her demons. today would be the first time she would dig up all this pain in her mind and she wasn't sure whether it was still a good idea, or not.
her nails suddenly became such an interesting sight that she couldn't tear herself away from them, hoping they would be enough to distract her from the dark thoughts that polluted her mind despite herself. as stupid as it sounded, nisha made herself a mental note where she silently wrote down what she planned to do on them. with the promise of putting on a nice electric blue polish and filing each one so that their sizes match, nisha felt strangely more relaxed. it was rose who had taught her this distraction technique and the girl added on her mental note to remember to thank her later.
a female voice rising in the air brought her out of her thoughts while her green notebook was still firmly stuck in her hands. a benevolent smile graced the curve of the psychologist's lips and nisha immediately felt more at ease with the welcoming warmth that seemed to emanate from the woman. soon she could put a name to her face as she extended her hand to greet nisha, introducing herself, "my name is jane and i will be your psychologist for the next few sessions we have ahead of us."
doing so in return, a flurry of questions flowed from the girl's name, and although she might have felt like she was being interviewed, jane made the questions sound like a conversation would. so nisha found herself talking, a lot. from her age to her studies or her passions to the way she liked to dress, she didn't hold back her logorrhea because all this information seemed necessary for the psychologist to draw a characteristic emotional portrait of the girl that would then be used to help the next sessions go better.
minutes later, jane began to ask questions that focused more on why nisha was actually sitting there in that spotless white room: her father, or rather, her father's death. without directly addressing the pain point, the psychologist zigzagged around it, asking her instead who the girl relied on when the grief became too much to bear. a smile filled with tenderness took place on nisha's lips as the answer was obvious.
the remarkable entourage she was surrounded by always gave her unfailing support and the girl would be forever grateful to them for that. arun showed great affection towards his sister, and although nisha needed it, it was still too childish and immature for the needs she wanted to fulfil. her mother was suffering just as much as her daughter, but more silently and therefore the subject was too painful for them to have discussed together yet. the girls knew how to make nisha laugh no matter what the situation and she was always excited about their gossip call where they would each tell each other what had happened recently in their lives; they brought a lot of levity when the girl was feeling down.
