The Last Session

I have never seen him.

Only heard his voice—It was warm and comforting.

For months, his voice was my safe place, a corner of the world where I could open my heart without the fear of judgment. The first time I spoke to him, my words trembled, heavy with pain. Today, my voice carries a different weight. The pain has lifted, leaving me lighter… yet my heart feels heavier than ever, because deep down, I know—this is going to be our last conversation.

The counselor spoke softly, his tone calm yet filled with pride.

“Diya, I’m happy you have come this far. Remember, life will still bring difficult days, and that’s normal. But I’m confident you have learned how to rise again, and that strength is already within you. This isn’t an ending—it’s the beginning of a chapter where you can trust yourself a little more each day. I hope you won’t need me anymore, but if you ever do, I will be here always. You don’t have to walk alone—just reach out to us”

There was silence for a moment. Then he added, almost hesitantly, “But… hmmm, Diya… well…I think I will really miss our talks—the way you share your knowledge and your thought process. I have been a quiet admirer of that.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the words—it was the way he said them. For the first time, I realized this bond was not just about healing. Somewhere in the pauses, in the shared silences, in the way his voice softened when he said my name… there was a tenderness neither of us dared to name.

“Me too,” I whispered, surprising myself. “More than you know.”

Something struck me in that moment—I wasn’t just learning to heal, I was learning to feel again. To care. To love. And though we both knew this chapter had to end, the warmth between us was not something time could erase.

As I ended the call, my heart whispered what my lips could not:

Sometimes love doesn’t ask for forever. Sometimes it just teaches you how to begin again.

Behind Every Frustration, There's a Story And a Silent Teacher

I didn’t plan to be this angry today morning. But there I was—my car screeching to a halt just inches away from the bank's brand pole. 

Even the way I slammed the car door—anyone could have guessed that, someone was either going to get an earful of words or witness the full extent of my frustration.

In a world where everything happens at the speed of a click, UPI payments, account creation, here I was, physically visiting the same bank branch for the fifth time. Yes, fifth. For the same unresolved issue. 

I was supposed to meet the lady at the front desk. But this time?. I bypassed her desk.

Straight to the manager cabin. 

I usually think ten times—or even more—before complaining about someone, because we are all human. My mind convinved me again: “Maybe she’s having a rough day, maybe she’s new and still learning, or maybe something heavy is going on in her personal life. Just ignore it and move on.”

But my mind displayed the real picture, She didn’t just misdirect me once. Not twice. But four times—confidently, with a lazy attitude.

And honestly, I was done. 

I stormed into the manager’s room, ready to unleash the storm in my head—only to find a man about my father’s age sitting calmly behind the desk. His silver strands and calm aura caught me off guard. My anger took a backseat, and something about his presence made me shift gears—instantly.

He listened quietly as I vented, fuming about that front desk person.

But then—he cut through.

"Come with me" he said, like a dad fixing something his kid’s been crying about.

He introduced me to another staff member and requested him to help me. That man, soft-spoken, asked a few questions and we exchanged a brief conversation. My work was about to get done. The manager stood next to us, ensuring it was heading toward a resolution.

Just when I was about to breathe relax, a sudden loud “HELLO? THIS HAS BEEN OPEN FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS!” echoed from the manager’s cabin. A woman—clearly the boss of the boss—was shouting at someone over the phone. The manager, went and quietly closed the door. (Didn’t help, though. The room wasn’t soundproof.)

The manager returned and spoke to the same staff member in Kannada. I couldn’t understand the exact words, but I could sense. It felt like he was saying, “Just this one more time… it’s okay.”

Now his polite demeanor flipped. He muttered under his breath in Tamil, assuming I don't understand:

“For her? No way. She thinks she rules the world. Her and her attitude. I’m not doing this nonsense.” 

Then, as he handed me a form I filled my first name and last name, he glanced at my surname—and froze. Anyone could tell I am from Tamil Nadu just by looking at my surname. 

Realizing I understood every word. He exchanged a quiet smile. 

The truth is, everyone’s fighting a silent battle.

And while my task was finally done, the whole episode reminded me of one simple truth:

A little kindness can go a long way. Even if you are on your fifth bank visit. Even if someone messes up again and again. People are still worth patience.

Before leaving, I walked back to the manager’s room and said,

“Thank you so much, sir.”

He looked up and replied with a soft smile:

“Why ma…Its our job.”

He was not interested in hearing a complaint—but he immediately focused on providing a solution, which was exactly what I needed.