Aya continued staring out through the glass at the pale-yellow daffodils that drooped, lifeless, from their pot on the windowsill, evidently having suffered weeks, maybe months, of neglect.
“Aya?”
Dr Shepherd’s voice resonated through the small, dimly-lit room, making her body twitch slightly in response, snapping her back to reality. She shifted in her seat, readjusting the cushion behind her so that it fit comfortably against the small of her back.
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat, her voice having become hoarse in the moments since she had last spoken. “What was the question?”
As often happened, Aya’s mind had wandered off, one thought snowballing into the next until it was almost as though she had been transported to another world, lost in a sea of thoughts and indecipherable feelings.
“I said, do you feel like we’re nearing the real issue that’s causing you distress, that you’ve eluded to before?”
Although his voice was soft and unthreatening, Dr Shepherd emphasized the words slowly and deliberately, his brown eyes boring into hers, into her soul, Aya felt.