It was a mild mid-April evening. Fresh green leaves stirred outside the clinic windows. Jeff was arranging the papers on his desk, ready to leave for the evening, when the door burst open. A young man stumbled inside, shivering beneath his coat. 

Jeff looked up from the papers and stood.

“Please sit down, Jim.”

He reached for the blanket draped over the clinic sofa and wrapped it around the man’s shoulders. 

Jim slumped into the chair beside the desk. 

Jeff studied Jim’s swollen face for a moment. He poured coffee from the pot on the side table and pressed the warm mug into Jim’s raw, crimson hands. Then he returned to his chair behind the desk. 

Jim’s fingers loosened around the mug. He lifted his bloodshot eyes, moisture pooling along their rims.

“I tried to scrub them off with ice,” he whispered, “but they’re still moving. Here… here!” He pointed to his shoulders and clutched his chest.

“I understand,” Jeff said softly, never looking away. He gently gestured toward the mug. “The coffee’s getting cold.”

Jim’s gaze slowly drifted towards the mug. He lifted it with shaking hands and took a few sips before staring into the darkness of the coffee. A faint crease formed between his brows. 

“The glass,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the mug. “He’d pour me some wine… Velvet Meridian… every Sunday… then we’d talk… Carlos Alcaraz… Ruskin Bond… Taylor Swift… I’d feel drowsy… umm… a weight over me… too heavy… umm… what did I say next?” he asked.

“You said you’d sleep for hours back home… barely ate… found crescent marks on your arms.” Jeff leaned forward. “Then… a glass shelf. A chessboard. A Christmas tree and… a sofa.”

For a moment, Jim said nothing. His brow furrowed. He turned towards the clinic sofa. “That room… I was lying on the sofa,” he whispered. “Eyelids too heavy… chessboard on the centre table… too cold. Furry slippers…” He pointed to the floor. “There… coming nearer… nearer… stopped… right beside me…”

The colour left his face. His breath caught. 

“The hands!”

He clawed at his shoulders and pressed both hands against his chest.

Jeff remained where he was, his eyes fixed on Jim. “Jim,” he said calmly. “Hold the mug. Smell the coffee.”

No response. Jim continued to claw at his shoulders. 

“Feel the blanket around your shoulders.” Jeff waited for a beat. “The wool… it’s rough. Can you feel it?”

Jim gave the slightest nod.

“Good. Stay with that.” Jeff glanced at the mug. “Now the coffee. Feel the warmth.”

Jim’s breathing gradually steadied. His fingers found the mug again. He took a slow sip.

“Good,” Jeff said quietly. “That’s enough for tonight. Go home and get some rest. If you remember anything else before next week, ring the clinic. We’ll leave it here for today.”

He paused.

“And promise me something—no more ice.”

Jim nodded.

“Did you come without the driver again today?”

Jim looked down. “I don’t want anyone to know about this. Once people know… they never stop talking. Dad wouldn’t want that.”

He stood. “I’ll take a cab.”

“I understand.” Jeff nodded. “All right. I’ll see you next week. Take good care of yourself.”

Jim pulled his coat tighter and stepped out of the consulting room.

The blanket remained on the chair. The coffee had gone cold. 

***

April gave way to May.

The weeks settled into a routine. 

Coffee cooled. 

Notes accumulated. 

The pauses lingered. 

***

The last of the June daylight lingered beyond the clinic windows.

Jeff had just finished with his last patient when there was a hurried knock at the door.

The receptionist stepped in. “Mr. Martin’s here. He says it’s urgent.”

A slight frown crossed Jeff’s face. “Send him in.”

A moment later, Jim stepped inside. His shoulders shook beneath his coat as he steadied himself against the wall. 

“God…” He sank into the chair. “I don’t know how to tell you.” He swallowed hard. “The last three days… his hands… I know now…”

“Take your time.”

“That day we finished the wine and played chess for a while.” He swallowed. “Then he left the room… just the clock ticking. As the minutes passed… my arms… my legs… I couldn’t move. My eyelids… too heavy. Everything went black.”

He drew a shaky breath.

“When I opened my eyes… a crushing ache in my head.” He pointed towards the cupboard beside the sofa. “There… glass shelves… something shining… trophies… I tried to count them… one… two… three… they kept drifting…” 

He pressed a trembling hand against his forehead. 

“Then… footsteps… soft… lost in the silence. There…” He looked down. “They stopped.” 

His fingers tightened around the armrests. 

His lips parted. No words came.

He shut his eyes. 

“His hands… on my shoulders,” he whispered. “The cushion… it sank. A breath on my neck… strong smell of wine… scent of aftershave… my nose burning. My hands… too heavy… slipped from my chest. My coat’s zip… rasping open… then my shirt… cold air… against my bare chest. A weight… too cold… on my chest… moving…”

Jim clutched his chest. “No… no… please… no…” He recoiled, pressing himself back into the chair.

Jeff’s expression stilled. He set his notebook aside.

“Jim.” His voice remained calm. “You’re sitting in a chair. Press your hands against the armrests. They’re firm.”

Jim’s trembling hands found the armrests.

“A little harder.”

His knuckles turned white.  “His hands…” he murmured, shaking his head violently.

“Now your feet. Press them into the floor. Can you feel it pushing back?”

After a moment, Jim gave a faint nod. 

“Good. Now look at the desk. What can you see?”

Jim opened his eyes slowly.

“…notebooks… a laptop… a mug…”

“Keep looking. What else can you see?” 

“…the window… the cupboard… lights.”

“Now look at me.”

Jeff waited. Slowly, Jim’s eyes found his. Neither of them spoke. 

Jim drew a long, unsteady breath. His hands loosened from the armrests. 

“All these months… his hands kept moving… places they never should have,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t know whose they were… thought I was losing my mind. I… I couldn’t speak about it to anyone.”

His lips quivered into the faintest smile before it disappeared.

“I knew he’d drink… heavily… every evening. Everyone knew. Nothing had ever felt wrong. It was just wine… chess… conversations. Sometimes I’d fall asleep. I always thought I was just tired… then I’d go home. He even spoke to dad… convinced him to let me join the band.”

Jim lowered his head into his hands. His shoulders trembled. A muffled sob escaped him. 

Jeff reached for the box of tissues and placed it within Jim’s reach.

After a long moment, Jim pulled out a tissue and wiped his eyes.

“When I could finally move… I pulled my shirt together… zipped my coat. He looked at me… smiled… said I looked exhausted. When I reached the door… he came after me… put an arm around me… leaned close.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Said no one would believe me.”

His fingers tightened around the crumpled tissue.

“I took the lift… walked out. They were putting up Christmas trees along the street. I remember the cold… and then… home.”

Neither of them spoke. 

“When I got home, I stood at the sink for a long time.” Jim looked down at his hands. “The water was freezing… I kept washing my wrists… they burned.” He swallowed. “They didn’t feel like mine anymore. I buried my face in the pillow. I thought… when I woke up, it’d be gone.”

He looked away. “But morning came. I went downstairs… spoke to everyone… then… umm… don’t know…”

Jeff waited. 

“I couldn’t sleep after that.” Jim looked down. “I stopped going there. I didn’t know why… I just knew I couldn’t… something wrong… hands. Three days ago, I saw him at a party. Nights got worse after that.”

Jim’s voice broke, but he kept looking at his hands.

“I keep thinking they’ll stop… but they always come back.”

The room remained quiet except for the faint hum of the lights. 

“Your mind couldn’t bear to remember everything that had happened.” Jeff paused. “So it remembered what it could.”

Silence settled between them.

“They were only asking to be understood.”

Jim rested his head on the desk. 

After a while, he lifted his head and looked at his hands. Slowly, he rested them against his shoulders, then across his chest, before letting them fall back into his lap. 

“I’m tired,” he whispered. 

“All right. We’ll stop here for today.” Jeff closed the notebook on his desk. 

Jim nodded. He stood, pulled on his coat, and paused at the door. 

“Thank you.”

Jeff returned the nod. 

The door closed softly behind him. 

***

Friday morning settled quietly over the city. 

Jeff was skimming the morning paper when there was a familiar knock. “Come in,” he said, looking up.

Jim stepped inside.

“You’re early.”

“No classes today.” Jim shrugged as he sat down. “The university fest’s over. We’ve got a week’s break. God… it was so hectic.”

Jeff glanced back at the newspaper. “The Pop Odyssey.”

Jim frowned. “Hmm?”

“Looks like your band’s made the papers.” Jeff turned the paper around.

Jim leaned over the page. A smile spread across his face.

“Didn’t know they’d covered us.”

He lingered over the article for a moment. Then he folded the paper slightly. His eyes drifted to the section above.

He read the article once.

Then again.

For a long moment, he looked at the paper.

Slowly, his gaze settled on the flower vase on the desk. The paper slipped lower in his hands.

At last, he slid it across the desk to Jeff. Jeff picked it up.

The upper half of the page carried photographs from the summit. A headline ran beneath them.

THE GLOBAL BUSINESS DAILY

Martin Hotel Group Wins Golden Keystone at Global Innovation Summit

Martin Hotel Group received its fourth Golden Keystone at the 54th Annual Global Innovation Summit last night. Accepting the award together, co-founders and managing partners Arthur Martin and Henry Martin called the win a testament to a decade of shared vision, crediting their joint leadership for redefining modern luxury travel.

Jeff looked at Jim with a slight frown.

“I remember the other three Golden Keystones,” Jim said quietly. “On the top shelf of the glass cabinet. Every Sunday, they were the first thing I’d see. Bright… always polished.”

He looked down.

“‘The first success belongs at home,’ Dad used to say. They were kept at Uncle’s place.”

Jeff lowered his eyes to the newspaper.

The photographs. 

The names beneath them.

When he looked up again, Jim hadn’t moved. The room fell silent. 

After a while, Jeff folded the newspaper and set it beside the notebook. He looked at Jim.

“Dad’s been travelling,” Jim whispered. “Meetings. Awards. Investors. Dad’s put years into this.”

He looked down. “If any of this comes out… Henry Martin…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Outside, the morning carried on. Traffic drifted past the clinic.

Jeff remained where he was, his hands loosely clasped.

Jim looked out through the window.

After a long while, he turned back to Jeff.

“They still come back.” His gaze drifted to his hands. “I know where they come from now.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Jeff sat quietly, watching him.

At last, he asked, “How have you been?”

Jim let out a slow breath. He rubbed his shoulder absent-mindedly.

“Band practice every day this week.” A faint smile touched his face. “We’ve got a show next week. Guitars, amps, keyboards, drum cases… we’ve been building it piece by piece. The stage, the sound… everything.”

He rolled his shoulder slowly. “It hurts.” A pause. “Funny… didn’t feel it then.”

Jeff said nothing. He simply smiled.

Beyond the window, the rain-washed August sunlight settled softly on the trees.