Here I am, sitting on a couch with her staring me right in the face. The room is so awkwardly silence. And my heart is beating so loud I fear she may hear it. And she'll know I'm nervous. But I suppose she could already make it up by my shivering hands. Honestly I don't want to be here. I don't belong here. I'm perfectly alright. I, I have nightmares sometimes but who doesn't? My parents are just too much. I think it'd be best if I just get through the session. She'll recognize am perfectly alright and my parents won't have any reason to worry.

'Since when are you having these nightmares?' She repeats the question I was avoiding. Because I know what she wants to know and talk about.

'Those aren't many. Just one. I had it once or twice only, nothing to worry.' Even though I try to I know I wasn't convincing enough. I bet she's seen through me. And she'll hold it against me. She will smash me down, break me into pieces. But only if I let her, which I obviously won't.

'Your parents told otherwise. You've been having these nightmares for almost two years. And I doubt they'd lie. Would they?' I look up into her eyes now. She is not asking, she is testing me. She wants to see if I'm honest with her or if I continue to lie. And something inside me tells me it's useless. She's not my enemy or someone who wants to hurt me in any way. She's a psychiatrist and she's just doing her job.

My parents are concerned for my well being and sent me to her, and she's doing nothing else than trying to get to the roots of my nightmares. She wants to help me get out of my depression, just like my parents.

But I don't know if I want to be helped. I don't know if I'm ready for that.

'I know your parents sent you here and you didn't want to be here. But believe me, once you talk, you'll feel lighter, better.' She sounds so convincing with her exaggeratedly calm and matter-of-fact voice, I almost forget I'm sitting here just for my parent's sake.

And now my mind is driving somewhere else, working on things to say and not to say, how much or less to open up. What could be awkward and what's appropriate? I don't want to be judged. But on the other side, is she allowed to judge me? Even if. She's a psychiatrist. She must have heard of far worse.

So taking a deep breath, I finally speak up.

'Ok fine. I'll talk. But lemme make one thing clear. I did not have a traumatic childhood. I was a happy child of a married couple who had occasional fights but supported each other whenever needed. I was an only child and obviously spoilt. Also, both my father and mother didn't neglect me for work and always spent time with me.' I present my childhood to her in a short summary. I was a spoilt child and not at all deprived of love, so no point wasting time in that phase of my life. It was a wonderful period. I wish I could go back to being an unconcerned child, when my biggest concern had been not to miss an episode of my favorite cartoon.

'Got it. So tell me about the nightmares. What do you see?' She finally asks again. I can see it, she wants to talk about my horrible dreams. Obviously.

Damn it.

I close my eyes and lean my head back as those unpleasant pictures run in my head like a movie. I don't want to talk about it. I really don't.

'Are you alright?' I open my eyes upon hearing her and sit back straight. I nod my head in response though she knows better.

So on second thoughts, I shouldn't be thinking about what I want, instead I gotta concentrate on what I need, what's better for me and the people around me. I was able to take sensible decisions, for example breaking up. I knew it's better to break up. There wasn't any other way. I mean, there were...but it was the most sensible one. But my ability to think straight was lost after...after that happened.

'If you don't want to talk about it today, we can try it on another day.' I look up at her as she puts her proposal forward. I pass a shy smile at her.

'No, I...I don't want to come again.' I lie. The truth is I want to talk now, but I didn't want to admit it. So I begin. 'I don't really remember each and everything that happens in my dream. It's, always different...but one thing is same.' I pause, my eyes fixated on my trembling hands. 'There's always a broken doll. And I wake up in fear, I'm scared every time I wake up even though I can't recall experiencing anything horrible in the dream.'

I watch her as she writes down something on her notepad. It must be notes about my narrative. What else? Surely not a tic tac toe game. Anyway. So as she looks up at me, I lower my eyes. I don't know why. I just do.

'Are you able to sleep again after the dream? When does it occur? And do you have any idea when the nightmares started? Maybe after some important, almost life changing experience?' She comes up with a set of questions. And I was expecting an analysis, that maybe she'll tell me what it may mean or why I may be having them. Instead she's questioning me.

'No. I, I can't sleep afterwards. And ya....they, they started shortly after I...' And here I inhale sharply through the nose before saying the following. '...after I had a miscarriage...two years ago.'

There. I said it. Yes. It is finally out in front of my psychiatrist, my biggest secret.

And after I say it, I don't look up. I don't dare to. I won't be able to take the pity in her eyes. She's a mother, I can see the photos of her kids on her desks, and now she knows that I lost my unborn. Even without looking at her I already know the look of sympathy on her face. Oh, how sorry she must be feeling for me. I don't want anyone's pity, sympathy or sorry. I really don't.

'So...you had a miscarriage. You have frightening nightmares and see a broken doll in them...Could it be that, the broken doll symbolises...your dead unborn?' She's so careful now, talking about it. My...unborn...dead unborn. Of course the broken doll symbolises my baby. The baby I lost even before it could grow inside me.

'Yes, may be.' I feel the urge to clutch my stomach, try to feel it there. But I'm not home. I'm sitting in front of a soul therapist. And I know it's not there. My heart just likes to play games with me. I haven't lost my mind yet. It's just the craving mother in me.

'Who was the father? Didn't he help you cope up with the miscarriage?' And finally she hits another paining nerve of mine. The father. My dead baby's father. Arnav Singh Raizada, the man I truly loved. But he's a known person in the business world and I better not take his name in front of her. Even if she's obligated to secrecy, she's a human being. And human beings tend to be curious by nature. She may google him later and feel bad for what I've lost or even talk about a patient of hers who was impregnated and left by a rich man. Maybe she gets such cases often, daily, but if not, then she'll be talking to her friends and criticize him. It'll be the usual discussion. Some of them will assess me for my choice, some of them will defend me, the patient and some of them will be calling him a swine. And I don't want that. I'll never want that.

So when I answer her, I'm cautious. 'He didn't even know I was pregnant....We broke up mutually and I got to know later I was expecting.' As those words just flow out of my mouth I think of that time when I discovered my pregnancy. I still remember the fear in me. I was carrying a child of a person who hates children. And moreover we had broken up. I didn't want to call him and say 'Hey, I know we called off the wedding but maybe we should consider it again, because well, surprise, you're going to be a father!'

'So after you got to know you're pregnant, you didn't call the father and tell him?' I can't gauge if she's actually shocked or just asking for because she wants to get to the root of my problem. Whatever be the reason, I was expecting it. My parents weren't better, in fact, they were worse. As much modern Indian parents can be, they'll never be progressive enough to accept their daughter to be pregnant without being married. They wanted me to tell him I'm pregnant so that he'd marry me out of conscientiousness.

'No, I couldn't. He was, busy...and there were- there were lots of things going on in his life. I didn't want to...I didn't want to, mess it up even more.' I try hard not to give in to my emotions. I don't want to cry, but fuck, these tears. Wish I could just be an emotionless. But I'm wrecked, broken and the void in my heart grows profoundly each time I revive the memory of the only two most important losses I've encountered in my life: the man I loved and our child, our unborn child.

'I'm sorry.' And now, here I am, apologizing for breaking down in front of my psychiatrist. 'I didn't want to be the person I am. I had dreams, I wanted to grow as a person, but...I've just stopped. I'm a lonely woman in my mid 20s living on my parents' expenses still stuck at that time I lost my baby.' I let it out finally. I sob like a kid and feel guilty for doing so.

I take a tissue out of the box she holds in front of me and blow my nose. Urgh. How much I hate myself right now, but somehow it feels better. I feel lighter. I wet my pillow every night but, it's another feeling to pour your heart out in front of someone else. Someone who can probably help you.

'Did you take in consideration that it could be your guilt holding you back?' She forms her words discreetly. I don't react but I'm certain she knows I contemplated it. 'You should have told him. He deserved to know...your child had a right to be known by its father. Even if it couldn't see the light of the world, it deserved to be known. It deserved a place in his memory.'

'When should I have done that? Right after we broke up, I flew back to London and his cousin was getting married, so he was busy and then I got to know he got married on the same day his cousin did.' And there I take a deep breath. I knew he was in love with Khushi but I wasn't expecting him to marry so soon, without prior notice. 'And then I lost it, so...I didn't tell him. Although I did call him once or twice with an excuse, but I couldn't bring it over the heart, I mean, did it even matter anymore?' And here I wipe the bloody tears off my cheeks which just won't stop.

'Yes it did and it still does. You need to put an end to this. Only then you will be able to move on.' She explains softly and I know she's right. But I can't do it, for an adequate reason. So I tell her in a calm voice. 'He's happily married. I can't mess with his life.'

'I understand what you mean. It's difficult. In that case I suggest you write a letter or an E-mail with all of your feelings in it and about the baby. Don't send it. If the mere writing helps you get rid of the nightmares, then that should be enough. Else you'll have to send it.' I look up into her eyes. She's leaning closer, smiling at me, assuring me her support. 'And go out often and meet some friends. You'll be surprised it'll do wonders.'

So once I'm home, I lock myself in my room and sit on the bed with the laptop in my lap and type it all. I follow her advice to the fullest and go out with friends and get back to my normal self, my normal life. But it never gets normal, not in the way it used to be. 

It takes time and few more sessions but it works and I am able to dump the pills. I take a deep breathe and I'm able to let it go. It is hard and requires time, but I can finally move on. Although something that I keep with me forever is the memory of my baby. Every time I come home, into my room, she's there. My doll.

*

I had the urge to write an OS about her after they break up. Came up with this.

I hope you enjoyed reading. And lemme know who of you all thought it was Khushi's POV until the revelation and who knew it all the time whose POV it was? Did you understand the End? Do lemme know.