DOSE OF SILENCE
1057 Words
VELVET HOURS
CHAPTER 2: DOSE OF SILENCE
Even when I’m here, I’m already gone..
Those were the words Haya repeated to herself as the elevator glided soundlessly upward, past mirrored walls and polished chrome. The building felt more like a five-star hotel than a clinic—Dr. Zarar Bin Saleh’s private practice was pristine, modern, and intimidating in its perfection.
She was there for something simple—a follow-up consultation for lingering stress symptoms. Insomnia. Low appetite. Headaches.
Nothing urgent. Nothing she hadn’t managed before.
Zarar had been reassuring over the phone. "We'll get your body and mind back in harmony," he'd said. "Trust me, Haya. You’ll feel like yourself again."
The receptionist greeted her with a crisp smile and minimal small talk. The waiting room smelled like jasmine and vanilla—too clean, too sweet.
She sat, crossed her legs, and skimmed her phone, though nothing held her attention. When the nurse called her name, she followed down the hallway without hesitation.
Everything was white.
Marble tiles. Frosted glass. Backlit wall art. The silence hummed with luxury and sterilization.
Zarar’s consultation room was dimly lit. Diffused golden lamps, a Persian rug, and soft jazz curling through hidden speakers. He greeted her with a smile that looked too polished for comfort.
“You’re pale,” he noted. “Are you still not sleeping?”
She nodded, hugging her arms across her chest. “Barely.”
He gestured toward the leather recliner instead of the examination table. “Sit. Let’s talk first.”
She hesitated, then obeyed.
He sat opposite her, legs crossed, flipping through a sleek tablet. “You’ve had chronic headaches since your residency, correct?”
“Yeah. They’ve been worse lately.”
“Stress?”
“I guess.”
“Or trauma?” he asked, eyes flickering up.
Her spine stiffened.
“I’m not here to talk about my past.”
Zarar’s mouth quirked, as if amused. “You don’t have to talk. That’s the beauty of modern medicine.”
He stood and moved toward the countertop. She watched as he prepared a small syringe.
“What is that?”
“Just a light muscle relaxant,” he said calmly. “Won’t knock you out. Just help with the tension. You look like you haven’t let go in weeks.”
She swallowed. Her heart beat faster. “I thought this was just a consultation.”
“It is,” he said. “I’m adding a small booster to ease your nerves. It’s entirely safe. You’ll feel better in ten minutes.”
She hesitated.
He smiled, not warmly.
“If you’re not comfortable, we can stop. But you came for help, didn’t you?”
That word—help—felt like a hook.
She nodded, numbly.
He swabbed her arm and inserted the needle. The sting was sharp and fast.
At first, nothing.
Then the world tilted.
The lights blurred. The room slid sideways. Her tongue thickened. Her limbs went slack.
“What—did you—?” Her voice slurred.
Zarar leaned in, eyes cool. “It’s working.”
She tried to stand. Her legs buckled.
He caught her, too gently.
“Don’t fight it, Haya.”
Darkness crept in from the edges.
---
Somewhere Else
The sheets smelled like antiseptic and lavender.
Haya’s eyes fluttered open.
Her head throbbed. Her throat burned.
Her mouth was dry, her lips chapped, her body heavy.
The room wasn’t familiar—white walls, tall curtains, no windows. A surveillance camera blinked in the corner. She was lying on a narrow bed, fully dressed, but her clothes were wrinkled, loose, misaligned.
Her body didn’t feel like hers.
Her thighs ached.
Panic shot through her like a live wire.
She sat up abruptly. The room spun. Her stomach twisted.
Where was her phone?
Her bag?
What day was it?
She stumbled to the door. It wasn’t locked, but the hallway outside was empty. Silent.
She ran.
Past medical carts, empty gurneys, rooms with glass doors.
The exit sign glowed like salvation.
She burst into the sunlight.
The street was unfamiliar. Industrial. Somewhere behind the clinic.
She ran until her legs gave out.
---
Home
When she finally reached her parents’ house—barefoot, filthy, her face hollowed by fear—it was dusk of the second day.
Her mother opened the door and stared at her as if she'd crawled out of a grave.
“Where have you been?” her mother hissed. “We’ve been worried sick.”
Haya couldn’t speak.
Her father appeared behind her mother. “Do you know what people are saying?”
She shook her head.
“You disappeared. You didn’t answer calls. You humiliated us.”
“I was—” Her voice cracked. “He—something happened—”
Her mother’s eyes turned to stone. “You left wearing decent clothes. You come back looking like this?”
“I didn’t mean to disappear. I didn’t know where I was—”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No!”
Her father’s expression darkened. “We can’t help you if you won’t tell the truth.”
“I am telling the truth!”
“We’ve raised you with everything,” her mother said. “And this is how you repay us?”
She reached out. Her mother flinched.
The rejection was worse than the assault.
“I just need… a place to sleep,” Haya whispered.
Her father pointed toward the street. “Not here. Not until you’re ready to behave like our daughter again.”
The door closed.
She stood there, shattered, on the front step of the only home she’d ever known.
And realized she was truly alone.
---
The First Night Alone
She found a hotel.
Cheap. Stained carpet. No lock on the bathroom door.
She curled into a ball under a scratchy blanket and stared at the ceiling.
She still wore the same clothes.
She couldn’t move.
Not until morning.
Not until she could find proof that she hadn’t imagined it all.
---
Later That Week
She returned to Zarar’s clinic.
It was closed. No sign of her appointment. No entry in the schedule. No cameras. Nothing.
As if she’d never been there.
As if she never existed.
Her voice had been erased before she even found it.
END OF CHAPTER 2
DOSE OF SILENCE
- Writer
