I woke up to the hospital room, blinking away the tiredness of my eyes. The lights irritated my vision, the simple movements of blinking my eyelids hurt at the moment.

A middle-aged woman walked in with a clipboard in her hand, she wasn't wearing her doctor's coat but the stethoscope hung around her neck like a necklace adorning her outfit.

She noticed that I was awake and walked to me, took my hands, and checked for the pulse instinctively without uttering a single word. A small tug appeared in the corner of her lips when she was satisfied with my pulse rate.

"Do you have an emergency closest family member that we can contact?" She asked, her voice was clear and subtle at the same time.

"No, you can tell me," I replied to her question.

"We have a few procedures," the doctor announced while checking at her clipboard.

"I can sign them, doctor, send me the bills I'll pay it," I stated simply, I couldn't keep calling my mom or Anne to rush here, that would only give Anne another reason why I should return to my childhood house.

"Your bills are all taken care of Ms. Malcolm, we have some other procedures to talk about," she said, not saying who paid my bills.

My mind wandered to the night, I was walking and experiencing a visi- no it can't be, it was most likely the dream that kept haunting me.

My memories wavered after the dream, I wondered if I woke up after it or did someone take me to the hospital? I don't remember anything after the nightmare, I tried to think about that night but the heady black fog covered my image.

"Who paid the bills?" I asked out of curiosity, I didn't have any friends here, did my mom transfer the money? No, it can't be, or that's what I think.

"Sorry Ms. Malcolm it's confidential," she hesitated.

"But I have to at least thank them," I tried to convince the stubborn doctor and asked suddenly "who admitted me here?"

"The same person who paid the bills, Ms. Malcolm, that's the only information I can give you and about the procedure and medications please visit my office before you leave," she asserted in a tone that leaves you no space to inquire more.

"When can I get discharged?" I asked, after the traumatic experience in the hospital room after my friend's death, I started to hate the hospital.

"We have a few tests to run, a nurse will assist you in few minutes and we will let you know about your discharge," she replied and walked away, leaving me with a thousand questions about this stranger.

Who is he or is it a she?

Why do they care?

Did he/she assume I'm a beggar? No, I'm presentable at least.

Shaking my head in confusion, I tried to think about the previous night, the nightmare had started to haunt my real life and it's tiring my body, the trauma that puts me into was something painful.

What do those dreams mean? The only way I could know was by seeking professional help. A nurse entered with a few pills and a clipboard.

"Do you feel hard to breathe?" She asked while writing something on the board.

"No," I answered, she nodded and wrote on the board again, probably recording my answers.

"Do you often fall out of consciousness?"

"Yes."

"Are you diagnosed with any illness?" This time the short brunette looked straight at me.

"Yes, panic attack and depression," I answered her truthfully, I don't see a reason why I should hide it, and if I wanted to seek professional help, I need to voice out my trauma.

"Are you taking sessions?" She asked after a beat.

"Planning to, do you know any specialist? I'm new to this city."

"Okay, I will check it with the psychiatrist and let you know, are you feeling abnormal now? Like drowsiness or nausea?" She asked.

"No, I'm fine thank you," I answered and she went on with her long list of questions, gave me a few pills to take and ran a few tests from my blood pressure to ECG, and walked away.

I stared at the hospital ceiling, not knowing how to kill time, I examined the small patterns drawn in the windowsill curtain.

After endless hours of staring at the ceiling, the hospital decided to discharge me, the nurse handed me visiting card of the psychiatrist and requested to meet the doctor before I leave this wretched hospital.

I got dressed in my jogging clothes, the only option the hospital has of me but it was washed, the smell of laundry powder and the hospital hit my nostril when I wore my hoodie, I made a mental note dry clean the set once I was home.

With an exaggerated sigh, I walked to the doctor's office, the door was open, she was busy on the call with a patient, prescribing a few names of tablets and their uses.

I knocked thrice on her door, which caught her attention. She signaled me to come in and I did, sitting opposite of her while she politely hanged the call with a quick I'll get back to you later, take care!

"I heard you are diagnosed with depression and panic attacks, do you experience them often?" She inquired for a greeting.

"Sometimes doctor."

"Please call me Maya, how often do you experience them?" She added politely.

I couldn't answer her question, confessing to a stranger about my foreseeing will only result in an asylum for a living, I paused and stared at her, contemplating a reply to her question.

"I'm a psychiatrist too Ms. Malcolm, you can be open with me," she laid out politely, her demeanor changing from blank to friendly.

Without thinking twice I decided to tell her, after all, I wanted to seek professional help, it's always sooner better than later right?

"I experience it since my best friend's death," I said truthfully, however, the memories hurt every time I think of it.

"Oh I'm sorry, when did this happen?" She asked and continued, "I know this is hard for you but can you try and narrate what happened?"

I swallowed hard and narrated about the accident when I was done it felt like I was carrying an invisible lump in my throat, the tears threatened to fall, guilt gnawing inside my heart, I finished with "... It was my fault, I should have saved her," and let my emotions fall free.

Dr. Maya listened intently at my words, nodding in the middle to carry on, when I was done she immediately asked, "how was it your fault? You can't claim for an inevitable Aini."

There was no other way than confessing about my curse to her, my problem will never be acknowledged unless I'm completely honest with my shrink, after all, I wanted this.

But with confessing the truth, I'm afraid that I would be called a liar or delusional, with doubt I confessed in a slow voice, "I can see the future by looking into someone's eyes..."

A/N

Word count - 1183 (excluding A/N)

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-haf