Rebecca de Chandio rested her head on the chaise longue and breathed a sigh of relief. She had never missed her weekly sessions with the shrink before and the forced break had set her nerves on edge.
Dr Tufail M. Winterbottom looked at her pensively. “Hmmm…” he said.
“Hmmm, indeed, Dr T,” she responded. “If only you knew how utterly adrift I’ve felt this past fortnight. I told Imran that we need to buy you completely, wholesale, lock, stock and barrel, and secure you somewhere on the estate, so I can always have access to you. Don’t worry, Imran has built a lovely new annex — nine bedrooms with a separate swimming pool and gym — for his out-of-town guests. I can persuade him to lock you there… I mean, house you there. You will be very comfortable, I promise you,” she added.
“I’m afraid that’s not how the world works,” Dr Winterbottom said, scribbling in his notebook.
“Oh, please! The world works the way we want it to work and you know this as well as I do,” she replied.
Rebecca de Chandio has everything money can buy except peace of mind. With global politics uncertain, shipping routes disrupted and her favourite hair dye unavailable, she turns to therapy to seek answers…
Dr Winterbottom took out a pale blue, monogrammed handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and dried the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He appeared worried.
“You don’t know the kind of anxiety this uncertainty is causing me,” she said. “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. The world’s not settling the way I want it to settle and I don’t know why everyone can’t come to terms with what I want!
“I can’t plan my holidays because who knows what August will be like in Upstate New York, what with the Doland changing his mind about everything every time he opens his mouth… will I be able to Saks Fifth Avenue with peace of mind this summer or will I be stuck in Barcelona like last year? Oh, why can’t all the world be just white and European and civilised once again, so we can all relax and go back to how it used to be? Why, Dr T, why?”
“The Doland is white.”
“Oh, don’t talk to me about him! How I loved him… how I fought for him… how I defended him every time my libtard cousins berated him for his paedophilia… alleged paedophilia, I used to yell at them! Alleged! How much of my husband and myself I saw in him… still see in him, to be honest… but now, it’s as if he is this stranger walking around in my old house, enjoying all the things I value most and setting up boundaries without my permission… How could he do this to me, Dr T?” asked Rebecca.
Dr Winterbottom remained silent. Outside, a delivery van sputtered its way down the street. In the distance, a dog broke wind. Rebecca looked forlorn.
“Imran and I feel so lost and abandoned. We don’t know what’s happening most days. I sit and Wordle by the poolside while my poor darling is trying to keep his spirits up by spending all his time admiring his brand-new Elie Bleu cigar humidor,” said Rebecca.
“Doland and his ilk all over the world — regardless of race, religion, ethnicity or deodorant preference — keep promising to make us great again… but when? How long will it take? How much more do the poors want from us? How much more can we give, after all we’ve given to them already?
“You know, Dr T, my Imran could have just as easily stayed at home and enjoyed all that life’s given him, including his trust fund, but he chose instead to help the beautifully structured and proportionately buttocked richs of the world, who have given so much through their tax-free family foundations to the lazy poors because, like the Doland and the elites of his adversaries, their hearts brim with love, kindness and healthy stock portfolios for one and all.”
“Why do you think it is that you feel lost and abandoned?” asked Dr Winterbottom.
“I just told you, didn’t I? Sometimes, I don’t know whether I should be paying you or asking you to pay me for repeating every word I utter so that you can write it down in that blasted notebook of yours! You seem to have absolutely no ability to retain what’s been said to you not a moment ago!” she said irritated.
“Listen carefully… I feel like my world’s turned into a gigantic lost-and-found department, where I am finding useless, second-hand things I can’t stand while constantly losing the fast-fading remnants of the life I once cherished. And to top it all, my Unburnt Sienna Tropicale hair dye is no longer available in all of Aitchisonia-upon-Chenab because, apparently, some straits keep getting hormuzed every other week, making it virtually impossible for the delivery man to get through with my order!”
“I’m afraid we’re out of time,” said Dr Winterbottom. “Let’s try and meet on planet Earth for the next session, shall we?”
Farid Alvie was born. He currently lives.
He’s on Instagram @faridalvie
Published in Dawn, EOS, June 14th, 2026