16

That psychiatrist, Knox, was stunning—so much so that people couldn’t help but be captivated by him for a moment. He seemed just a year or two older. Elsa was pleased. "Well, no harm in admiring a beautiful sight," she thought, entering with a smile.

"He's gorgeous, but I can confidently say Joseph will be even more handsome," she mused silently.

"And this is a psychiatrist," she scoffed to herself. Sitting across from him, Knox was jotting notes quickly on a piece of paper, occasionally glancing up at her. His attempt to suppress a laugh at the way she blew her nose was barely noticeable before he turned his full attention back to her. Elsa, meanwhile, had closed her eyes, lost in the memory of Joseph’s gaze from her dreams—until Knox’s voice startled her.

"Maybe you’re just tired of talking to yourself," he said with a smile, his tone free from sarcasm.

"It’s not a sickness, Doctor," Elsa replied, her irritation barely concealed.

"I only made a suggestion. Now, what were you thinking about?" His voice was soft, warm, leaving a pleasant impression. Elsa relaxed slightly.

"Why don't you figure that out, being a psychiatrist and all?" She shot back with a playful smile.

"Seems like psychiatrists aren’t on your good side. But, I don’t think you have a personal grudge against me, do you?" For a brief second, Elsa's face flushed.

"How did he know?" she wondered, but quickly composed herself.

"No, no... nothing like that." She forced a smile.

"Good, because I thought for a second you might pick something up and bash me over the head!" He chuckled.

Elsa found herself captivated by his laughter. "Oh God," she thought.

"I was just joking. Let’s get back to business," he said, snapping her out of it.

Elsa swallowed her irritation and began recounting everything—the accident, the dream, and Joseph.

Knox remained silent for a long while, and Elsa’s eyes darted to a heavy paperweight on his desk, tempted to throw it at him.

"I’m going to tell you a story," he finally began, "about a boy whose mother died during childbirth. He grew up with only the company of servants, as his father was always too busy. He had no siblings, no friends.

"One day, the boy noticed another child playing at a neighbor's house. Drawn by his loneliness, he befriended the child, bringing him home and sharing everything with him. The boy’s life became happier now that he had someone to keep him company.

"One day, the boy’s father came home early, and the boy excitedly brought him to meet his new friend. But when they entered the room, the father saw no one except his son, talking as if there was someone else in the room. The father, bewildered, played along, asking about this invisible friend, and then rushed out, wiping his brow. He couldn’t make sense of it.

"Later, after talking to the servants, the father learned that his son had been talking to himself, acting as though someone was always with him. Concerned, the father took him to a psychiatrist, who revealed that the boy was so lonely that he had created an imaginary friend. This friend felt so real to him that he could actually see and interact with the child."

"But that only happens to kids, not me," Elsa interrupted, frowning.

"That’s our problem," Knox said softly. "We always think these things happen to others, never to us. We believe accidents are for someone else, and we’ll always be spared."

"So, you’re saying Joseph is just a figment of my imagination?" Elsa’s voice hardened.

"Precisely."

"And why should I believe that?" she asked.

Knox shook his head, smiling.

"Well, for starters, you’re not engaged, and you’re waiting for some dream prince to appear."

"Excuse me, Doctor, do you really think I’m that immature?" Elsa glared at him.

"It’s not about maturity. If you’re emotionally occupied elsewhere, Joseph won’t show up in your dreams anymore," Knox explained gently.

"So, you’re suggesting I force myself to become emotionally attached to someone just to get Joseph out of my mind? Emotional attachments don’t work that way, Doctor," Elsa said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She was beginning to feel like this was going nowhere.

"Do you want to stop dreaming about Joseph?" Knox asked, leaning forward.

"Of course," Elsa said, crossing her arms.

"Then engage yourself in something for at least a week—an activity that truly makes you happy."

"I don’t feel happiness, and I don’t cry either. I don’t even know what could make me happy anymore," Elsa said quietly. For the first time, Knox detected a note of helplessness in her voice.

"Alright then, you’ll spend a week with me. I know what will make you happy," Knox said, his tone calm but firm.

"You’ve only known me for fifteen minutes," Elsa said, her eyebrows raised. "How much can you really know in that short time?"

"I’m a psychiatrist," he said with a small smile. "Fifteen minutes is plenty."

"And you’re really going to shut down your clinic for a week just to help me? That’s hard to believe."

"Your father’s paying me quite handsomely, much more than I’d make in a week. So, think about what’s best for you, not me."

"Fine," Elsa shrugged. If she refused, her father would probably just drag her to another psychiatrist. At least Knox seemed like an ally.

"Though I reserve the right to change my mind at any time," she added quickly.

"In that case, you can let me know," Knox said, handing her his card with his name and number.

Elsa held the card as she left, glancing at her father, who seemed unsure. It looked like he was regretting his choice.

"Seems like a junior doctor. Did you really bring me here to solve my big problem?"

"I believe in him," her father said confidently, silencing her doubts.

A week off didn’t make much difference to her. Whether she spent it at home or with Knox, it wouldn’t change much, she thought. After a pause, she agreed, making her father visibly pleased. He had a strange faith that Dr. Knox held the cure to all ailments.