Psychological fragments

The fourth consultation is today.

She was three minutes late. This was the first time she had ever been late. She pushed open the door, her face paler than usual, the shadows under her eyes seeming even deeper, as if the lingering effects of the night had not yet dissipated.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?" I asked softly, trying to break the sudden silence.

She simply nodded, a hint of weariness in her movements. She slowly sat down, casually placing her canvas bag at her feet; the bag seemed heavier than usual.

"What would you like to talk about today?" I continued to guide the conversation.

She shook her head, her hair swaying gently with the movement: "I don't know."

I waited patiently; sometimes, silence conveys more information than words. Sure enough, after a few minutes of silence, she finally spoke.

"Dr. Shen, if someone told you that there's someone in your life who isn't the person you thought you were, would you believe it?" Her voice trembled slightly, as if the question carried a heavy weight.

This was a similar question to the one I asked during our last consultation. I stared at her, trying to catch a ripple in her calm, lake-like face. But her face showed nothing but calmness.

"That depends on who told me," I replied cautiously, "and also on the circumstances under which they told me."

She nodded slightly, seemingly unsurprised by the answer.

"If you told me," she continued, her voice low and firm, "I would believe you."

I paused for a moment. This didn't seem like a simple assumption; it seemed more like an implication of some kind of fact.

"Lin Nian, do you have someone like that around you?" I asked tentatively.

She didn't answer, but just looked at me quietly, the corners of her mouth slightly curved. It wasn't a smile, but an indescribable expression, as if she was hiding something.

"It's time." She stood up, her voice carrying a hint of determination.

This time, she didn't linger at the door; she pushed it open and walked straight out. But just as she was about to disappear outside, she turned back, a complex look flashing in her eyes, and whispered:

"Dr. Shen, please be careful."

At the time, I didn't understand the true meaning of those words. I thought it was just a projection of her anxiety, or a sign of concern for me, or even just an unintentional reminder.

It wasn't until a week later, when she died in my office, that I truly understood the meaning of those words.

That was not a warning.

It was a farewell.

Fifth consultation

It was exactly four o'clock in the afternoon. I had just seen off the last patient and was engrossed in organizing the consultation records. Suddenly, the phone on my desk rang; it was the front desk.

"Dr. Shen, Lin Nian has arrived ahead of schedule."

I glanced at the clock on the wall; she was ten minutes earlier than the appointed time. This was unusual for her—she had never arrived this early during the previous four consultations.

"Please let her in."

The door slowly opened, and she appeared in the doorway. She was still wearing that gray hoodie, those jeans, and that canvas bag. But today, I noticed something different: the collar of her hoodie was slightly tilted, as if she had put it on in a hurry; her hair was a little messy, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears.

"You're here earlier than usual today," I said.

"Mmm," she responded softly, sitting on the sofa with her hands neatly placed on her knees and her back straight, just like the previous times.

"What would you like to talk about today?" I asked.

She remained silent. My gaze fell on her profile, and I noticed that her eyes weren't meeting mine; instead, she was staring out the window. Outside, the tender green leaves of the sycamore trees swayed gently in the sunlight.

"Lin Nian?" I called softly.

Her gaze slowly returned to me, meeting my eyes. At that moment, I sensed a strangeness in her eyes. It was no longer the usual indifference, nor the complex emotions, but an emptiness.

It was hollow, as if the soul had been ripped out.

"Are you alright?" I asked with concern.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice as light as a feather.

"How have you been sleeping these past few days?"

"Same as before."

"Has anything unusual happened?"

She gently shook her head.

I tried various methods to get her to speak, but her answers were always brief, followed by silence. In the forty-minute consultation, she spoke for no more than five minutes in total.

Near the end, I gave up.

"Lin Nian," I said, "it's okay if you don't want to talk. We can just sit here. If you want to talk, I'm here."

She gazed at me, and I remembered that look for a long time—not gratitude, not defensiveness, but an emotion I couldn't decipher. Later I realized it was the last glance someone cast at the world before deciding to end their life.

"It's time," she said softly.

She stood up, walked to the door, and placed her hand on the doorknob. I thought she would turn around, would say something. But she didn't. She just paused for a moment, then pushed the door open and walked out.

I sat there, watching the door slowly close. The sunlight outside the window was still bright, and the leaves of the sycamore trees were still swaying in the wind. Everything seemed no different from any other ordinary Thursday afternoon.

However, immediately afterward, I heard a muffled thud from outside.

It wasn't the sound of knocking, but the sound of a body falling to the ground.

I suddenly stood up and rushed out.

She lay on the floor of the waiting area, just two steps from the door. Face down, her hands still outstretched, as if trying to grab something.

"Lin Nian!"

I rushed over and turned her over. Her eyes were half-open, and her pupils were dilated. Her lips were purple, a sign of oxygen deprivation. I felt for her carotid artery—no pulse.

I immediately began CPR. One, two, three. Her chest caved in and out beneath my hands, but there was no further response.

"Call 120!" I shouted to the front desk. Xiao Zhou was already pale with fright, his hands trembling as he picked up the phone.

I continued pressing. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto her face. Her face was beginning to turn ashen, and her lips were growing increasingly purple.

"Please," I don't know what I'm saying, "please wake up."

By the time the ambulance arrived, I had been performing chest compressions for almost ten minutes. The paramedics pulled me away and took over the resuscitation efforts. I stood by and watched them administer defibrillation, artificial respiration, and adrenaline.

Finally, the team leader looked up at me and shook his head.

"It's no use. The preliminary time of death is estimated to be 4:37 AM."

4:37.

I quickly glanced down at my watch. 4:37.