Dr. S M Yasir Arafat

Dr. S M Yasir Arafat got a gold medal for his MD in psychiatry. Did his MBBS at Dhaka Medical College too. That means he is probably very good at taking exams. But the patients sitting across from him do not care about medals. They just stare at the wall. He is an associate professor now. His room is quiet. No loud machines. Just a desk and a couple of chairs. Families bring in their kids. Teenagers who lock themselves in their rooms for weeks. Or older men who think people are following them. He just sits there. Leaning forward a bit. Listening to them talk in circles. He does not interrupt much. Just lets them get it out.

Mental health is slow. No bandages to fix it. He writes down the symptoms on a blank pad. Poor sleep. No appetite. He prescribes small pills. Antidepressants or antipsychotics. Tells the family it will take a few weeks to see any change. They always want a magic cure. He just shakes his head. Tells them to probably just wait. He teaches the medical students sometimes. Explaining how the brain misfires. The students take notes. But reading a book is different from watching a guy cry over nothing. He finishes the session. Folds the prescription paper in half. Hands it to the father. Calls the next one.