Rudraksh sat stiffly on the couch, glaring at the muted green walls, occasionally shifting his glare to the doctor. His jaw was clenched, fists balled up in a visible effort to control his emotions. Even the soft cushions seemed to irritate him, and his entire demeanor screamed discomfort and annoyance.

The cabin was a serene retreat, its walls lined with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with volumes on psychology, philosophy, and spirituality. A few lush green plants, placed carefully in ceramic pots, added a touch of nature to the space, their leaves gently swaying in the breeze.

The window, framed by flowing white curtains, looked out onto a tranquil garden where vibrant flowers bloomed amidst birdsong and the soft murmur of a babbling stream.

A beautifully crafted Lord Buddha statue sat on a small wooden table, its serene face radiating a sense of calm. The decor was minimalist yet elegant, with a few thoughtfully chosen artworks and a soft, plush rug adding warmth to the room.

Dr. Tanvi Bajaj sat calmly in her chair, eyes fixed on her visitor with a gentle, non-judgmental gaze. Her hands rested in her lap, posture relaxed yet attentive, as she waited for him to begin.

"Do you usually glare at people like this?" she asked in a gentle yet probing tone.

"Only when people force me to do things," he replied dryly, his eyes boring daggers into the doctor's soul.

Tanvi nodded. A polite smile played on her lips as she lazily caressed the pen lying on the tabletop. "So, I assume you're here... unwillingly?"

His expression remained stoic. "Drop the formality, Doc. And tell me—what are you going to do with me?"

The doctor's gaze met his, her eyes holding a calm intensity. Her fingers, which had been tracing the pen, stilled and folded gently in her lap. "What do you want me to do with you?"

"Do you want an honest answer?"

The doctor nodded with closed eyes.

Rudraksh's pressed lips curled up. He rested his good hand on the armrest and leaned forward. "Cut the crap of making people cry in the name of fixing their minds," he spat. "Our minds are not some puzzle your community tries to solve as a time-pass hobby."

Her gaze followed his every movement – the tremble of his fingers gripping the couch, the way his face tightened like he was holding back something painful, and the rise and fall of his chest as though he'd been suffocating in a confined space for too long.

She rose from her seat, her cotton saree rustling softly as she walked to the window. The sunlight streaming in highlighted the delicate patterns on the fabric. She gently caressed the leaf of a potted plant, drawing soothing circles with her fingertips.

"Who told you that I'm here to fix your mind?" She turned to face him with a warm smile. "You have full control over your life, Rudraksh. I'm here... just to help," she paused, reading his expression, "that too, only if you wa—"

"I don't need your help," he snapped before she could finish. "Im perfectly fine. I don't need anyone's help." His face stayed composed, his voice flat and emotionless.

A faint smile returned to the doctor's lips as she nodded slowly, her hands folding behind her back.

Rudraksh's eyes tracked her movements, lingering on her calm expression. "Do you therapists always smile like this?" he asked, making her blink. "It's so creepy." He finished the sentence nonchalantly.

Tanvi opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Whatever." Rudraksh shrugged. "How long will this thing last before I'm declared healed?"

Dr. Tanvi walked back to her chair with composed steps, her saree rustling softly with each movement. "Well... there's no specific time limit," she said. "It depends on you – on how long you want to come here and talk."

Rudraksh raised an eyebrow. "Nice way of not losing customers and their money."

A quiet, barely audible chuckle escaped her, her lips curving into a small smile. "Are you always this sarcastic, or is today special?"

Rudraksh's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, didn't I tell you?" he remarked. "My best friend and my sister kidnapped me here after drowning me in their emotional blackmail and hollow threats."

"Maybe because they care for you." She adjusted the rim of her glasses.

"By forcing me to talk to a stranger who doesn't know a single shit about me?"

Dr. Tanvi nodded slowly, her eyelids falling shut for a brief moment before she looked at him again. "You don't have to tell me anything until you want to."

"Trust me."

A brief silence fell over the room, the only sound the soft scratch of Dr. Tanvi's pen on paper as she scribbled occasional notes in her notebook. Her gaze remained steady on Rudraksh before dropping back to the page.

Rudraksh leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs out before him, ankles crossed in a seemingly relaxed pose. His casted hand rested near his chest, while his good hand lay on the armrest, fingers tapping a practiced rhythm along the edge. His gaze swept the room, his eyes moving with the precision of a hawk scanning its surroundings.

"For how long have you been doing this?" Rudraksh's skeptical voice broke the silence.

Dr. Tanvi didn't look up, her eyes still focused on the diary as her pen hovered over the next page. "Almost twenty years," she replied calmly.

Rudraksh leaned forward, resting his elbow on his thigh. "Doesn't it stick to you?"

The doctor placed her diary and pen aside with deliberate gentleness. She folded her hands loosely across her chest, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Sometimes... when I relate to their pain..."

Rudraksh's eyes widened, and his legs began bouncing lightly against the floor. "So do you also visit a therapist?"

Dr. Tanvi's smile was warm, her tone gentle as she replied, "No. I've learned the way of emotional regulation over the years. So, I don't need a therapist."

Rudraksh's eyebrows brow furrowed, deep lines forming across his forehead. "What's that?"

A knowing smile stretched across her lips as she studied the curiosity in his eyes. "So..." She clasped her fingers together in her lap. "There are a few concepts: emotional dysregulation, emotional regulation, and self-regulation."

As she spoke, she removed her glasses, her fingers curling around the rim before placing them on the table.

"Dysregulation refers to the inability to manage or regulate one's emotions, behaviors, or physiological responses," she explained in a measured tone. "In therapy, recognizing and addressing dysregulation helps patients manage their symptoms, develop coping strategies, and improve their overall mental health."

Rudraksh listened intently, blinking occasionally, his eyes fixed on her face.

Dr. Tanvi's voice flowed smoothly as she continued, "Emotional regulation is the ability to manage and modulate emotional responses to various situations. Self-regulation, on the other hand, is broader. It includes emotional regulation, impulse control, and goal-directed behavior."

As she paused, her eyes locked onto Rudraksh's face, observing the subtle shift in his expression. His eyebrows drew closer, his lips pressed together, as though he was trying to absorb every word.

"In therapy, promoting emotional regulation and self-regulation is often a key goal," she said. "Helping individuals develop the skills and strategies they need to manage their emotions, behaviors, and physiological responses in a healthy, adaptive way."

Rudraksh's eyelids fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again. "In simple words... what do you want me to do, doctor?" he asked tiredly.

Dr. Tanvi's expression softened. She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on her knees. "I want you... to start noticing."

Rudraksh tilted his head.

"Noticing when your breath gets stuck in your chest. When your jaw tightens. When your hands form fists. When you feel the urge to shout, or walk out, or shut down completely." Her gaze held his without wavering. "That is the first step. You don't have to change anything yet. Just notice it."

He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as he processed her words. "Notice and then?"

"Then," she said softly, "you pause. Just for a second." She raised a finger. "Long enough to ask yourself, 'What's happening inside me right now?'"

Her words lingered between them, a gentle invitation to introspection. "Not why," she emphasized. "Don't chase reasons. Just what. Am I scared? Angry? Numb?"

Rudraksh's throat bobbed with a quiet swallow. The words "scared" and "numb" seemed to land heavily, striking something deep within him.

Dr. Tanvi allowed the silence to settle naturally. "You've been surviving on reflexes, Rudraksh. Not choices. Survival taught you to shut the door before the fire even reached your feet. But therapy... it's about opening that door. Letting yourself feel the heat without burning down the house."

Rudraksh's face contorted, discomfort flashing through his features. His gaze darted around until it landed on the clock hanging on the wall. His chest expanded with a heavy breath before he pushed himself to his feet.

"You know what, Doc?" He met her calm, unwavering gaze. "Your fifty minutes are over. Goodbye. See you never."

The cabin door clicked shut with a soft thud behind him. Dr. Tanvi's eyes remained fixed on the closed door, a faint smile curving her lips. She picked up her glasses, slid them back on, and gave a small shake of her head.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The rooftop was a whirlwind of color and sound. Bollywood wedding songs blasted through the air as children ran and screamed in vibrant attire. The scent of spices and food wafted through the air, mingling with the smell of incense and flowers. Women bustled about, busy with last-minute preparations for the next day's celebration, some gossiping in a corner as they worked.

Amidst the chaos, the trio – Ira, Nakul, and Panchhi – stood out, leaning against the railing in one corner of the rooftop.

"Hey Ram... for three days straight, these cruel people have been tuning me on their fingers." Nakul stretched out his blue trousers-clad legs lazily, his elbows resting on the wall. "Go there, come here, bring this, bring that, escort that relative, escort this cousin!" His chest rose and fell desperately as he exhaled into the air with a contorted face.

His younger sisters munched on Kurkure, their fingers stained with the bright orange dust of the spicy snack. As they licked their fingers, Nakul's lips pursed and his nose scrunched up. With a swift motion, he raised his hands and slapped the back of their heads, jerking them forward.

"Bhaiya!" Ira and Panchhi screamed in unison, their mouths still full of the spicy snack.

Nakul snatched the packets from their hands, the crunchy sound of the Kurkure filling the air as he poured the contents of one packet into another. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the empty wrapper at Ira. "Go! Throw it in the dustbin."

Ira's face twisted as she stomped her foot on Nakul's, making him wince. She picked up the wrapper and flung it into the corner, the plastic sailing through the air before landing with a soft rustle. "You're so mean!" she scoffed.

Panchhi's hand snaked into the packet, her fingers closing around a handful of Kurkure.

Nakul's hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-air. "This is mine now," he declared, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

Ira's eyes sparkled as she reached out to cradle Nakul's beard-stubbled chin in her fingers. She shook it violently, her voice wheedling. "Bhaiya, oh my grumpy, always-barking brother, give us a little. We're siblings. Sharing is caring. You forgot that?"

Panchhi's face lit up. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands together. "Yes! Yes! We'll give you a head and leg massage. Even a back massage!"

Ira's eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell? No way."

Nakul smirked, his eyebrows wiggling as he extended the packet towards Panchhi. "Yes," he said. "Take it, Panchhi. It's all yours."

Panchhi reached out to claim the packet, her fingers closing around it with a satisfied grin.

"And me?" Ira asked with wide eyes.

Nakul raised his eyebrows at her. "Massage?"

Ira's lips curled upward, and she waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Yeah, okay, okay! Beggar."

Nakul's lips stretched into a wide smile, as he pulled out Ira's cheek with his teeth gritted.

Ira's face scrunched up, and she shoved his hand away.

Undeterred, Nakul's pulled out a hundred rupee note from the pocket of his green hoodie, handing it to her. "Go, buy whatever you want."

Ira took the note, her face transforming from a scowl to a smile. She tucked the money into her white mickey mouse pyjamas pocket. "Anything?"

Nakul nodded. "Anything that is edible," he clarified. "Just don't get those stupid lotteries."

Ira's face contorted. "Hey! Last time I got ten rupees in a five rupees lottery," she said, her voice filled with pride. "Worth it, isn't it, Panchhi?" She cocked her head forward, seeking Panchhi's validation.

Panchhi's response was muffled, her mouth full of kurkure. "Hmm." She handed the packet back to Nakul, and simultaneously passed a handful of kurkure to Ira.

The two girls munched in sync. Nakul watched them with a warm smile, enjoying the simple pleasure of sharing snacks with his sisters.

The trio's hands froze, snacks suspended mid-air, as their gazes converged on the man leading a group. His bald head gleamed, stern fair features chiseled in the fading light. His six-foot-two-inch frame loomed large as he ascended the stairs to the last floor.

Behind him, a woman trailed, her face a mask of submission. One hand mechanically adjusted the pallu on her head, the other clutched the edge of her cotton saree.

Soft whispers rippled through the group, women leaning in, their lips barely moving as they exchanged hushed words.

Ira rolled her eyes, focus snapping back to the kurkure in her hand.

Nakul's face twisted, his eyes tracking the man until he vanished into the corner.

Panchhi's gaze swept the roof floor, her eyes narrowing as if searching for something. "Bhaiya..." Her voice trailed off in a whisper, focus darting toward Nakul.

"Hmm?"

Panchhi's words spilled out in a hushed tone, "Isn't he your distant uncle who suffocated his own daughter to death because she was in love with someone?"

Ira's head jerked forward, her eyes narrowing. "Correction, kiddo." Her voice was low and even. "His daughter wasn't in love with 'someone'. She was in an unacceptable relationship with her own elder sister's husband."

Panchhi's eyebrows furrowed, her face twisting as she spat out the words, "So, did he kill his son-in-law as well?"

Ira's lower lip pushed forward, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant gesture. "My father's side of the family is more dramatic than our mother's side."

"Then, be cautious, Ira di. Don't you dare to fall in love." Panchhi's voice was low and serious.

Ira's lips twitched, a dismissive "tch" sound escaping as she munched on. "I don't live in delusion." Her eyes flickered towards Nakul, who stood with a somber expression, his gaze fixed on some point on the roof. "Bhaiya?"

"Hmm?"

Ira's finger rose, hovering near her chest as she posed her question. "A hypothetical question. Let's assume."

Nakul's eyes narrowed, his gaze snapping back to Ira's face.

Panchhi's eyes darted between the two, as she leaned forward.

Ira's chest heaved as she gulped, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Let's assume that someday I come to you saying I love someone and want to marry him."

Nakul's response was neutral. "Depends on the boy."

"What do you mean?" Ira asked.

Nakul exhaled deeply, the sound a low hiss as he rested his elbows lazily on the railing top. "I meant, love marriages are not for a long run," he said firmly. "People make decisions based on fleeting emotion, and when they realize the weight of the situation, the reality of each other, their divorce drama starts."

Ira's mouth opened, a protest forming on her lips, but Nakul's palm shot up. "We've seen this, Ira." He shot her a sharp glare. "Do not debate about it."

"He's right, di." Panchhi's eyes flicked towards a young woman sitting a short distance away, cradling her one-year-old daughter in her lap. The woman's bruised lips seemed to tell a story of their own, and Panchhi's gaze lingered on her for a moment before she continued. "They had a love marriage. At first, there was so much romance. Her husband always used flash in every family function. And, by the end of one year, all romance became dust. He still beats her."

Nakul's expression twisted into a scowl. "Not only this," he added. "Almost more than ninety percent of these love marriages failed. You can take out any example. From Bollywood, politics, relatives, neighbors, anywhere." His hands gestured emphatically, as if punctuating his words.

"They have made marriage a game. Like, today I'm feeling so much love for you, so, let's play marriage-marriage. And when I'm bored of this marriage game, then we'll play a cheating-game, then divorce-game." He scoffed, the sound loud and dismissive. "Disgusting!"

Ira nodded, her eyes rising to meet Nakul's. "I agree. But, these things happen in arranged marriages too, no?"

Panchhi's gaze flicked between the two siblings, her expression thoughtful.

"Happens," Nakul said. "It happens, but not as much as in compared to love marriages. In fact, it's much less in arranged marriages. Because in this, we don't just decide and get married. We search, we dig every grave of the family in order to gather every piece of information before giving our daughters to someone."

His eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he continued. "And one more thing. In an arranged marriage, you will have your family, the society behind your back. But in love marriage, nobody's going to say anything if anything bad happens, because that was your sole decision." His voice dropped. "Some parents even abandon their daughters, breaking every thread of relations with them."

Ira's eyebrows furrowed, as she chewed on her inner cheeks. She lifted her gaze, her voice steady as she spoke, "In arranged marriages too, no family and society stood behind them all the time. They brush it off saying, 'it was girl's or boy's destiny. What can they do?'"

She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Yes, I agree that love marriages don't last long, generally. But, arranged marriages last longer, most of the time because of the child, or the woman is not financially stable on her own." Her hands gestured, her palms facing upwards in a helpless motion. "In the fear that if they walk out of this relationship, where will they go, how will they survive, cuz it was their father, their brother, their husband mostly, who were providing everything."

Her eyes locked onto Nakul's. "Men don't break because of pressure from the family."

"That pressure keeps their relationship alive, Ira. That's why I'm saying, you've got many people behind your back in an arranged marriage, cuz your family will not let the relationship break based on a mild misunderstanding or ego."

As he continued, his expression turned serious. "Because, let's be real, Ira. Ego is another big factor which is leading to a broken marriage. In today's time, everyone is so egoistic, no one wants to adjust, and marriage demands adjustment."

Nakul's gaze drifted around the rooftop. "When there are two different personalities, clashes happen," he said, facing Ira. "Yes, if things are uncontrollable, it's getting unbearable, then walk out."

Ira's lips bulged out in a pout, her eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you both making it sound like I'm convincing you both for my love marriage?" Her voice raised slightly as she complained like a child.

Her face scrunched up in distaste as she continued, "I'm against this whole system, whether it's arranged, love, eloping or whatever," she said, her voice firm. "People are born, then they should study, get a job, earn money, live life, and then die. Simple." She waved her palm in the air.

Nakul's expression softened as he listened to Ira's words. He pulled her closer, sliding an arm around her neck in a gentle gesture. "Marriage is not scary. It depends on your life partner," he said, and planted a gentle kiss against her temple.

Ira's face pinched, and she she wiped the area harshly.

"And, don't worry. I'll find a generous gentleman for you." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

Ira jerked Nakul's hand away, a scowl etched on her face. "No, thanks." She extended a hand towards Panchhi, fingers curling around her wrist. "We're going to the store."

Nakul stood there, a smile still playing on his lips. He absentmindedly scratched his head, gazing into the distance. But as Ira's earlier words replayed in his mind, his expression changed.

Let's assume that someday I come to you, saying I love someone and want to marry him.

"I will send him to a place even Google won't be able to find," he muttered under his breath.

The sound of Ira's laughter and Panchhi's chatter faded into the distance as Nakul's thoughts consumed him, his mind already planning the hypothetical scenario.

A/N: How's it?

1. Rudraksh is being cocky in the first psychiatrist session, isn't he?

2. And, this overprotective brother, or is he controlling? Don't know who will deal with this guy?

3. Though, it's about culture and countries things, what's your opinion on this arrange and love marriage things?