“God! How drunk were you?” Amyra exclaimed as she tossed her clutch in the air when she entered the room. “Look at that poor hand. Are you happy now that you can’t move it?” She commented as she closely inspected my fractured arm and the bruises on my face. I flinched and groaned in pain, as she stroked the bluish lump over my left eye gently.
“Can you recall the first time you met him?” Dr. Shikha, my therapist, asked. Without breaking my gaze from the crystal stone that I was fidgeting with from the start of the session, I started to recollect the faint memory in my head. A light chuckle might’ve escaped as I juggled through the thousand beautiful memories I had with him.