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‘So, that’s it, I’ve told you everything.’ I said.
Dr Neeta Iyer broke into laughter as I finished my story.
‘This is insane. You find comedy in my tragedy?’ I was miffed.
She didn’t stop laughing.
‘I’m paying you to treat me,’ I said and checked the time. ‘And I had to leave for
the airport in twenty minutes.’
It dawned on me that I had spoken to her for four hours. I had no money for
this extravagance.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘you reminded me of my first boyfriend. He was North Indian.
‘You didn’t marry him?’
‘He didn’t want to commit,’ she shook her head.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said.
‘It’s OK. I’m over it.’
‘Of course you are, you are a therapist. You should be able to cure yourself, if
nothing else.’
She walked to the window. ‘Ah Krish, it doesn’t work like that. A broken heart
is the hardest to repair.’
I sighed. ‘Do you accept Citibank credit cards?’ I opened my wallet.
‘It’s fine, send me a cheque later,’ she said. ‘You should have eloped.’
‘We thought we will win our parents over. Where’s the joy of getting married if
your parents won’t smile on your wedding day?’ I said.
She came to me and patted my shoulder.
‘You have to leave. So, what do I do now? Do you want pills?’ she said.