Dr. Anjali’s office smelled of rain and sandalwood. The chairs were deep green velvet, the kind you sank into. No clock on the wall. No diplomas either. Just a small bronze statue of a sleeping fox on the low table between them.
A long pause. Then Emma’s voice, cracked but clear: “I don’t break. I just wait to be hung again.” secret therapy - emma
“And yet you’re here. That’s not nothing.” secret therapy - emma