The Waiting Room

I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, leafing through magazines, when one of the doors opened and a woman walked out, holding back tears. She slumped down into the chair beside me and said, “The doctor told me that I’m too fragile for the rhythm of this world. Apparently, my soul is too pale. He suggested I seek a place more in harmony with my spirit. Do I really have to move back to my parents' place in the mountains? What am I supposed to do now?”

I didn’t know what to say; I just held her hand.