The rhythmic tick of the clock sliced through the heavy silence. Hours had bled into one another, marking the longest session Riya had ever endured. Pooja's hand tightened around hers, a grounding touch in the storm brewing within Riya. One moment, Riya trembled like a leaf in a hurricane, the next, her eyelids fluttered shut, a curtain drawn over a well of emotions.

Pooja's voice, a lifeline in the churning sea, called out Riya's name, but it landed on deaf ears. Five minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the relentless beat of Riya's heart. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall, a barrier between her and the present. A gaping void gnawed at her core, a chamber locked away with all its painful memories. The fear of the dam breaking, the memories flooding back, paralyzed her.

A wave of panic surged through her. Each breath felt like a struggle, her lungs constricting. She tried to tear her gaze away from the wall, but her body felt frozen. A vivid image materialized behind her closed eyelids – a dark, suffocating tunnel, devoid of light or hope. Jagged rocks, cold and damp, pressed against her bare feet, their hardness mirroring the weight pressing down on her chest. She was trapped, water seeping in, threatening to drown her in the depths of her own past.

Panic clawed at Riya's throat. She yearned to scream, to plead for help, but her voice was trapped, a prisoner within her own body. The air grew thick and heavy, mirroring the rising terror within her. Tears welled in her eyes, tracing silent tracks down her face as they mingled with the dampness seeping from the rocks.

A single drop touched her lips, a jolt of life in the suffocating darkness. She tasted it tentatively, a primal urge to survive flickering within her. She was alive, yes, but utterly alone.

With a shaky resolve, Riya began to walk. Each step on the unforgiving rocks sent fresh stabs of pain through her feet, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. Time stretched into an agonizing eternity, the tunnel walls seeming to mock her every effort. Exhaustion gnawed at her limbs, begging her to surrender.

Just as despair threatened to consume her, a sound pierced the oppressive silence. A voice, soft and melodic, called her name. It was familiar, a beacon of hope in the endless darkness. As Riya strained to see, a figure emerged from the distance, bathed in an ethereal white light.

Pari. Her daughter stood at the tunnel's end, a radiant vision with a smile that could melt glaciers. Riya's heart soared. With a renewed surge of energy, she stumbled forward, her breath ragged, her legs burning. But the white light receded with every step, Pari's smile transforming into a heartbreaking grimace.

The weight of her exhaustion became too much. Her body, ravaged by fear and pain, finally gave way. As darkness engulfed her once more, a single tear escaped, a silent echo of a love that transcended even the deepest despair.

Pooja watched with growing alarm as Riya's demeanor shifted. The session had taken a dark turn, triggering a severe anxiety attack. Pooja called Riya's name repeatedly, hoping to pull her back from the emotional precipice. Reaching for a glass of water, Pooja intended to offer Riya something calming, but a name escaped Riya's lips – Pari.

The single word had a profound impact. Riya's body tensed, her breathing becoming ragged. Pooja, recognizing the name's significance, used it gently to guide Riya back to the present. Several minutes of labored breaths passed before Riya finally lost consciousness.

Pooja, a seasoned therapist who had witnessed the depths of PTSD, knew this was a complex case. The trauma Riya harbored held layers of secrets, waiting to be unraveled. As Riya stirred, Pooja gently splashed water on her face. Regaining awareness, Riya's eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her gaze.

Pooja, prioritizing Riya's well-being, offered her water. Riya accepted the glass, a silent acknowledgment of the harrowing experience a moment ago. A deep unease settled in her gut. Something was wrong, a darkness she couldn't quite grasp. Yet, a sliver of determination flickered within her. She knew she needed help, and this was the first step towards healing.

As Riya emerged from the darkness, Pooja adjusted her glasses and offered a gentle smile. "Riya," she began, her voice calm and reassuring, "I want you to know that what you experienced isn't normal. You need help, and I'm here for you."

Riya's eyes welled up, her voice trembling. Pooja reached out, squeezing her hand in silent support. "Has this happened before?" she asked softly.

Riya managed a hesitant nod. "Three times," she whispered.

"Those were anxiety attacks, Riya," Pooja explained. "Left untreated, they can worsen. You're also experiencing emotional withdrawal, which can be overwhelming. But please, don't shut me out. Talking about these memories, even in pieces, is crucial for healing. We can take it one step at a time."

Pooja leaned forward, her gaze filled with empathy. "For now, let's focus on managing these episodes. When negative thoughts intrude, write them down. Think of the paper as a trash bin, absorbing your negativity. And you have nothing to feel guilty about, Riya. Love for Viaan was real, and there's no shame in that. But love can be difficult too. There's a difference between loving someone and letting that love consume you."

Finally, Pooja asked a question that hung heavy in the air. "And Riya, who is Pari?"

Riya's eyes widened. "Pari," she whispered, the name a startled breath. "My daughter."

A thoughtful silence settled between them. Pooja finally spoke, her voice gentle. "Riya, can I ask you something sensitive? Do you love Pari, or is it more a sense of duty?"

Riya bristled. "Of course I love her!" she exclaimed, a tremor in her voice betraying her agitation. "Everything I do is for her. She's the light in my darkness, a constant prayer on my lips." Love, exhaustion, and a flicker of something else flickered in her eyes.

Pooja held her gaze, a knowing glint in her own. "That's what I needed to hear, Riya." She didn't press for further details, sensing Riya's vulnerability. "Let's talk about coping mechanisms for these attacks," she continued, her tone shifting to a practical level. "We'll meet again next week, but until then, practice these exercises I'm giving you." Pooja knew Riya was dealing with compassion fatigue and if this all-continued Riya will lose herself completely. She could sense love in Riya's eyes but more than love it was her duty. She was bound by the duty. 

Pooja outlined a series of coping mechanisms for Riya's anxiety attacks. "First," she explained, "when you feel your breath quicken, finish an entire glass of cool water. It's a calming agent, regardless of the situation."

Next, she instructed Riya on deep breathing exercises. "Take slow, deep breaths, counting to ten with each inhale and exhale. This will help regulate your racing heart."

For better sleep, Pooja suggested a relaxation technique. "Before bed, sit comfortably on the floor with crossed legs and a straight back. Chant 'OM' for at least seven minutes. The sound vibrations are known to promote inner peace."

"Finally," Pooja continued, "take a new diary and write down all your anxieties, negativity, and dark emotions. Think of it as a mental storage room, where you can temporarily keep unwanted thoughts without throwing them away completely."

Riya listened intently, her face betraying a glimmer of hope. She rose from the bed, her movements stiff and hesitant. Pooja, a keen observer, recognized the signs. Riya exhibited symptoms of PTSD and emotional numbness, possibly bordering on Anhedonia – a fear of expressing emotions.

The therapist noted Riya's tendency towards emotional withdrawal. If left unchecked, it could lead to complete emotional shutdown. Pooja understood the delicate task at hand: navigating the dark corners of Riya's heart, where memories of Viaan and Pari lay locked away. These memories were the key to unlocking Riya's pain, but also potentially her path to healing.

Riya descended the stairs, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She felt even more on edge than before. Getting into her car, she fumbled with the keys, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Taking a deep breath, she knew she needed to calm down before driving. Safety was paramount.

Reaching for her phone, she connected it to the car's Bluetooth. As she scrolled through her music library, a song unexpectedly captured her attention. Spirituality wasn't usually her thing, but the combined vocals of Sachet and Parampara seemed to pull her into a different world.

With a hesitant click, she played "Shiv Tandav." The music washed over her, its energy and rhythm a soothing balm on her frayed nerves. The powerful vocals felt like a battle cry against the negativity threatening to engulf her. She could almost picture Shiva himself performing the Tandava dance, a surge of strength coursing through her.

This, she realized, was what she needed. A guiding light in the darkness. Glancing at the clock, a jolt of panic shot through her. Pari's school bus would be there any minute. Stepping on the gas, she raced home, desperate to reach in time.

By the time she parked and rushed to the bus stop, her breathing was ragged. The therapy session had taken a toll, leaving her emotionally drained. Every thought of Viaan seemed to steal her energy, trapping her in a suffocating cycle. The very act of trying to forget him only served to pull her back in, an invisible force tethering her to the past.

His memory felt like a forbidden sin, a constant reminder of a mistake she never wanted to repeat. His presence in her thoughts made her feel worthless, like a woman who had betrayed herself. Pushing those emotions aside, she forced a smile, waiting for Pari's bus. She wouldn't let her daughter see her crumble.

The truth, however, was far harsher. Riya felt herself breaking apart piece by piece with each passing day. Redemption seemed an impossible dream, a distant glimmer fading with every struggle.

Riya rushed to embrace Pari as she stepped off the bus, clinging a little tighter than usual. Pari, oblivious, offered a warm smile and grasped her mother's hand. The walk home was shrouded in silence. Usually, Riya would pepper Pari with questions about her day, but today, words felt like an impossible burden.

It was becoming clear. These withdrawal symptoms were real. Riya craved isolation, a quiet refuge from the emotional turmoil within. But she wouldn't succumb to this. A fighter at heart, she vowed to try Pooja's techniques, clinging to the promise of healing.

The next few days blurred together. Riya diligently practiced the exercises, but they seemed to lead her back to square one. The guilt of her broken marriage and juggling motherhood gnawed at her. Love for Viaan, once a source of solace, now turned into a throbbing pain. With each attempt to move on, the intensity of her panic attacks escalated, leaving her feeling utterly alone. The tremors in her hands worsened, a constant reminder of her unraveling state.

Only the powerful chants of "Shiv Tandav Stotram" offered a semblance of peace, its energy a beacon in the darkness. However, Riya's growing isolation confused Pari. The once playful child became withdrawn, a silent reflection of her mother's retreat.

The burden of ensuring Pari's well-being now weighed heavily on Riya. Maintaining a facade by day was exhausting. By night, the urge to scream into the void grew unbearable. She craved connection, someone to acknowledge her pain and humanity. Yet, she remained alone, a silent warrior to the world.

Her parents saw a "superwoman," Pari the "best mother," colleagues marveled at her strength. But beneath the surface, Riya felt like a machine, devoid of emotions. The vibrant woman she once was slowly vanished, replaced by a hollow shell. Even pain, once a tangible experience, had become a distant memory.

The road to recovery seemed insurmountable, a terrifying journey shrouded in silence. All Riya could manage was a silent plea for the return of the woman who could feel, who could love, who could simply exist. But for now, she was adrift, a mother desperately clinging to hope, for Pari's sake, if not for her own.

Viaan tossed and turned, haunted by Riya's decision. The thought of her giving up custody of Pari gnawed at him. Was there someone new in her life? Someone she prioritized over their daughter? Jealousy, a bitter aftertaste, rose in his throat. He pictured a faceless man, a rival threatening his family.

Fear tightened its grip. While he'd refused custody himself, he knew Riya's unwavering resolve. Once she made a decision, it was final. A horrifying image flickered in his mind – Riya, Pari gone, leaving him with a hollow echo of their life together.

Lost in his own anxieties, Viaan failed to see the impact his behavior had on Riya. His focus remained solely on his own pain and fear, oblivious to the storm Riya was navigating.

********************************* Second Day in Counselling **************************

A painting of Krishna adorned the waiting room wall. His playful eyes and mischievous grin holding a dollop of butter offered Riya a fleeting moment of peace. It reminded her of Pari, dressed as Krishna for a school play, a vision of adorable chaos. The memory sparked a flicker of warmth, quickly extinguished by a wave of emptiness.

"Riya Ma'am," the receptionist called for the tenth time. Lost in thought, Riya hadn't noticed. Gentle nudging finally broke her trance. She blinked at the receptionist, who looked on with a hint of concern. Pooja, observing the exchange through the CCTV, recognized a concerning shift in Riya's condition.

Embarrassed, Riya rose, legs trembling slightly, and walked towards the therapy room. The prospect of reliving her trauma filled her with dread.

Pooja greeted her with a warm smile, adjusting her glasses. "Hi Riya, how are you today?" she asked gently. Today's session aimed to be a beacon of hope. Pooja already had a good understanding of Riya's symptoms, but a complete picture was crucial.

"I'm fine," Riya mumbled, her voice strained. The weight of reliving the past constricted her throat.

Sensing Riya's discomfort, Pooja opted for a casual approach. "How's everyone in the family? How's Pari?" she inquired. Breaking the ice was essential, and Riya's growing unease was evident.

Pari is good thank you. 

Today Pooja didn't wanted to trigger Riya by asking her about her trauma but she tweaked her approach seeing Riya's discomfort. 

Riya, why don't you tell me about your love story with Viaan. I want to know what made you fall in love with him. What's your story? As the words flew of her mouth, Riya raised her eyebrows. She looked at Pooja with curiously and suddenly a smile adorned her lips. For the first time in two days there was a shine in her eyes.  

This time Pooja saw the hope, Riya was still alive and breathing, her heart was still beating for that man who had crumbled her heart to pieces and Pooja wanted her to show the mirror of relationship but by the power of love not by trauma. It was difficult but Pooja wanted to help this innocent soul , who needed love and support and not the usual "Move on" chatter. 

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