At the Doctor’s Desk
Dr. Levent’s clinic always greeted Selin with the same smell: paper, disinfectant, and a tiny bit of lavender. A combination that tried to be soothing but failed. Selin sat in the chair. Across from her, Dr. Levent had opened his notebook, his pen ready. She knew this ritual by now. “How was this week?” the doctor asked. “Good,” Selin said. She paused. “I mean… fair.” “Fair meaning?” Selin clasped her hands in her lap. Outside the window, Istanbul flowed by—cars, people, clouds. Everyone going from somewhere to somewhere. Only Selin stood still, as if outside of time. “I talk to him,” she said. “Every day. Sometimes for a very long time.” Dr. Levent didn’t move his pen. “How does this make you feel?” “Good. Bad.” Selin laughed; short, a bit bitter. “Both at once.” “That’s normal,”
- Writer
