“I didn’t imagine it was,” said Nayan warmly, already feeling his apprehensions about this trip slipping off his shoulders. It felt like a touch of divine intervention after all the frustration and the angry silences and the empty repetition of words in the offices of therapist after therapist who, after relatively short sessions, realized they didn’t have the technique to help him. As Katie said, one could not counsel one who wanted none of it. Dr. Weller had been the last of his therapists; or rather, the last of his psychologists. Weller was well known, published, and the only therapist who persisted in the belief that Nayan’s troubles could be forced into the light through an aggressive series of Socratic seminars. All of which made Nayan uncomfortable and angry. “You are perfectly charming. Trust me, I’ve had my share of therapists who did try to trick me,” Nayan admitted wryly. “My last one, a Dr. Jayden Weller, was abrasive, presumptive, and altogether too forceful in his evaluations. He insisted in provoking me at every session, asked roundabout questions, was aggressive and… well…” Nayan didn’t have complexion to blush, but he would have were that the case. “I threw a chair at him.”