The Waiting Room

I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, leafing through magazines, when one of the doors opened and a woman holding back tears walked out. She sat down and said, ‘The doctor told me that I’m too fragile for the rhythm of this world. Apparently, my soul beats too slowly. He said it would be good for me to find a dwelling more suited to my soul. Do I really have to move back to my parents in the mountains? What am I supposed to do now?’ I didn’t know what to say; I just held her hand.