❝ Your fear is someone's reality, ❞

* * *

17th September, 2020.

All of the world stood at her door; watching, spying, tasting, whispering, scribbling and stalking.

The world that had been sleeping with their eyes open, eating and working like rats, had come to a curious standstill.

No one moved, blinked or respired.

Frozen like statues, they stood at her door, waiting for her to speak, to give them her story. Her story was termed priceless, a delectable trp riser.

But there was a problem. She refused to talk, or show any emotions.

Unconcerned, unresponsive and completely emotionless, she sat stiff and still, her lips tightly sealed.

Even at the prick of the syringes, she refused to show the slightest of reaction. The only time her lips moved was to eat or drink, otherwise they'd always remain closed.

The only movement she showed was that of her eyes. They were constantly darting across the greenish blue tinted room, checking every possible nook and cranny. At times, she was even found staring at a painting that hung beside the window. Something about it always held her gaze and attention, but didn't last long from the frequent visitations she received.

Psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists, psychotherapist and many more. They all came and went, a furious curiosity storming their minds.

He was one, soon to join them.

Dr Karan Saxena, a well-known - atleast in the hospital - psychologist had his interests piqued at her case. His ears itched and fingers ached to jot down the fragments of her memories. He wanted to know everything about her.

Everything.

Often he had heard from his colleagues, who had failed in the task, about her unwillingness to speak.

Maybe this task was meant for me to accomplish. No worries, I'll make her talk and create history; he'd tell himself after their failed attempts.

Many a times he'd catch himself thinking about her; the tone of her voice, its pitch, the manner in which her lips would curve when she spoke or the way she'd pronounce her letters.

All his free time had been occupied with her thoughts, in the mysteries her silence held and the terrors her mind and body had been inflicted with.

He wanted to know about the darkness of her situation, of the world she'd survive, and how exactly she had survived it. Especially when her medical reports stood clear of all signs of sexual activities.

He had almost laughed at those reports; a child, lost, walking around without a guardian and completely vulnerable, left unharmed?

Not even a scratch?

Impossible!

He knew the world all too well. They were too ferocious and beastly to let the vulnerable ones off without feasting on them.

"Karan," his name was called, a light tapping on his shoulder.

Startled, and partially furious, he stared at the source of distraction.

"Just admit it, man." His colleague stated, wiping his spectacles with his handkerchief. "Everyone here knows that you're obsessed with her. Except you."

"Am not," He huffed, fogging his own glasses. Grumbling, he wiped the lenses on his shirt and placed them in his pocket.

"Yeah right," he rolled his eyes. "Next you'll tell me that someone broke into your room and filled a book with notes just about her, or that they'd leave her file beside your couch everytime you take a nap on it."

Karan scowled. Despite all the denying, his colleague wasn't wrong.

Deep down, even he knew that he was obsessed with her to the point of madness and no return. The walls of his room covered with sticky notes were proof enough for this madness.

He had often tried to give his thoughts a chance, to walk in and speak to her, only to freeze at her threshold and stay drawn into her blank gaze. Those lifeless orbs that glistened with mysteries, losses and comforts.

"Look, if you're interested in giving it a try, I can arrange for that to happen."

He halted in his tracks, "Really?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "The HoD gave her case to me, and if you're willing to try, go for it."

"So, do you want to or shall I ask someone else?" He added, a crooked smile on his lips.

"No!" Karan hollered, grabbing onto his colleague's shoulders. "I mean, yes. I'll do this."

"Great, meet me near her room at 8:30 PM sharp tonight." He smiled. "Just remember to give me the findings after the session."

"Come on, Karan Saxena," he grinned, rubbing his hands. "It's time to create history. Get ready for the night."

With a happy whistle, Karan adjusted his glasses over his nose and walked over to his room.

'I will make her talk for sure.'

* * *

8:37 PM
21st September, 2020.

Standing by the door, Karan had most of his attention fixed on her.

He was excited, yet nervous.

It was like a dream come true, yet he knew that it wouldn't go the way he had scripted and played it in his head for long.

The real world never worked his way, anyway!

Shrugging off his thoughts he turned his attention to her - the source of all his miseries and obsession - a young woman of twenty, possessing neither a name nor voice.

Enchanting black eyes, tanned brown skin and wavy hair that flowed down her back; Karan found her way too enticing.

In his eyes, she didn't look like a frightened woman draped in mystery and trauma. Rather, she seemed as one with a story to share.

Just a story, nothing else.

Enthralled, he decided to watch her a bit more. He wanted to learn a bit more about her from her silence. So he watched, observed, watched, observed and watched.

He noticed a listless and exhausted strain in her eyes. The coldness, so deep, so forlorn, mourning for something precious lost years ago.

Identity, home, dreams or childhood? What was it, she lost, that made her mourn so deeply, and also make tears well up in his eyes?

He wanted to find out. He was determined to find out.

Every colleague of his, that walked out of this room, had only one word to describe her - apathetic. They had often said that the word for meant for her, created for her. But he, for some reason, couldn't fit it on her.

Sure, she was silent and unresponsive, but wasn't that expected from her situation?

Kidnapped, or probably sold, and transported from one place to another for God-knows-what reasons to live a life no one wanted to live.

She must've been scared, begged and cried for help. She must've grown tired and given up, accepting her situation and putting on a mask of stoicism. A mask beneath which she hid everything.

Fears, dreams, hopes, happiness and even her own name.

He blinked, lifting his hand to get rid of the dust that irritated his eye. Successful in doing so, he turned his attention back to her, only to draw a surprised breath.

It was as if someone had switched her in the time he was distracted. She wasn't the same woman of twenty he had found alluring at first sight.

Rather, he found a pitiable, fragile and soft woman. Her eyes weren't enchanting, they were cold and blank, holding no light or hope in them. They were devoid of the very features that made them humanly.

She was exhausted and fearful, her shoulders bending down under the weight of his dreams and expectations.

His dreams and expectations.

He felt ashamed.

All he had in his mind was his success, his name, his career. He never once stopped to think about her, about the life she lived and the brutal scars that adorned her mind.

He forgot the basics of treatment: to empathise. The emotion that would help him connect with her was never established.

How was he to go on then?

Yes.

Yes, he could definitely do this.

He could just apologise.

To himself.

To his profession.

To her.

And build the bonds from scratch.

He could always do that.