A break from silence
1292 Words
POV : Clara
I offered a gentle smile as my client stood to leave.
“Make sure to get some rest—it’s important,” I said softly, walking them to the door.
They nodded, and I watched them step out before returning to my desk.
I picked up the office phone and pressed the line to connect with my assistant.
“Any other appointments today?”
A brief pause. “No, that was the last one.”
I leaned back with a quiet hum. “Alright… okay.”
Setting the phone down, I let the quiet settle around me.
A rare stillness settles over me. For a moment, there's nothing to fix, no mind to untangle, no pain to soothe. Just me, in this quiet room — and the echo of lives I try to help piece back together.
---
Suddenly, the phone rings, its sharp sound pulling me out of my brief moment of stillness. I glance at the screen.
Arnie.
A small, involuntary smile forms on my lips. I pick it up and swipe to answer.
"Hello."
Arnie: "Hey baby, still listening to sob stories?"
Her voice is light, teasing — a familiar mix of mockery and affection.
I sigh, rubbing my temple gently. "I’ve told you before, don’t talk about my clients like that. It’s not just stories, Arnie. It’s their pain."
Arnie: "Okay, doctor," she says, dragging the word out with playful sarcasm. "So… you still inside that cozy little mind-lab of yours?"
"No, sessions are done for today."
Arnie: "Wow, golden hour then. Let’s go to lunch. Our usual spot?"
I hesitate only for a second, then nod to myself. "Hm… okay."
Arnie: "Bye-bye, baby."
I let out a soft chuckle as the call ends and place the phone gently back on the desk. For a moment, I just sit there, the quiet returning once again — but lighter now.
With a deep breath, I push myself up from the chair, grab my bag, and head toward the door. I pause for a brief second, looking back at the stillness of my office — the space where so many stories linger.
Stepping out, I glance down the empty hospital corridor. It’s quiet, dimly lit, the hum of distant machines the only sound. I walk calmly through it, letting the silence settle over me like a soft shawl, until I reach the parking lot.
There’s a kind of peace in this — the in-between, before I shift from being a therapist to just… me.
---
I step out of my parked car and glance across the street. The restaurant glows warmly, lights spilling onto the sidewalk like a welcome hug.
I walk in, the soft chime of the door announcing my arrival.
At the reception desk, I offer a polite nod. "Good evening. Arnie Lau?"
The hostess smiles, nods, and gestures for me to follow. I trail behind her through the cozy, softly lit space until we reach the table.
I spot Arnie immediately — seated comfortably, phone angled just right, taking photos of her drink with dramatic flair.
I slide into the seat across from her.
"Stop taking photos and drink it already," I murmur with a tired smile.
Arnie: "Oh, you’re here!" she says, barely looking up. "And it’s important, okay? The world wants to see me hydrate beautifully."
I sigh and shake my head just a little, lips twitching into the kind of smile I always save for her — the one I don’t even notice forming.
After a few minutes of endlessly adjusting angles and filters, Arnie finally puts her phone down with a satisfied sigh.
Arnie: "So, how you doing? Still stuck in that boring therapist routine?"
I nod slightly, not bothering to look up from the menu.
Arnie: "Ugh," she groans, flopping back in her chair with exaggerated drama. "Babe! Stop being so boring."
She pouts, then leans in a little, a playful smirk forming.
"You know, I could introduce you to someone."
She moves closer, voice dropping into a teasing whisper.
"Tell me — you like models? Actors? Someone with a fine body? Or maybe you’re into tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable? Or… someone with good hands? Skills?"
I glance up at her, expression flat but knowing exactly what she’s implying. No words needed.
Instead, I raise my hand and call for the waiter. Calmly, I scribble my order on the notepad he hands over, then return my gaze to her.
"You were saying something?"
Arnie: "Pfft," she rolls her eyes with full theatrical flair. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just having a conversation with my imaginary friend. Ghosts are way more fun than you lately."
I let out a quiet breath — not quite a laugh, but close.
And somehow, in her chaos, I start to feel a little more human again.
I lean back slightly, arms crossed, and ask with a hint of sarcasm,
"So, how’s life going—being a 'top model' and all?"
Arnie: "Fantastic, beautiful, and absolutely glowing—just like me."
She says it dramatically, flipping her hair as if cameras were already flashing.
Arnie: "And you know," she adds, lowering her voice as if sharing a royal secret, "I just got a new brand offer."
She claps her hands once, eyes sparkling. "Huh! So happy!"
I can’t help but smile a little — not at the brand, but at her being so unapologetically… Arnie.
Arnie: "And you? Are you seriously planning to spend your whole life like a robot?"
She leans in, eyebrows raised, voice full of mock judgment.
"Come on, girl—go out, go on dates in the daylight, spend your nights all naughty naughty—heheh!"
I roll my eyes, the corner of my lip twitching. As if it’s that easy. As if I ever wanted to live by her cheap ideas of fun.
"You really think all these cringe things are the way to live a meaningful life?"
Arnie: "Better than rotting in that sob s********m of yours,"
she snaps back, tossing her hair with flair.
"At least my world smells like perfume and champagne, not tears and trauma."
I exhale sharply through my nose, half a sigh, half a laugh.
She always says the wildest things. And yet… sometimes, I wonder if she’s not entirely wrong.
"I'm fine like that," I say simply, my voice calm but firm.
Before she can fire back, the waiter arrives with our lunch, placing the dishes in front of us. I look up and offer a small nod of thanks.
We begin to eat, and as always, Arnie dives right into her stories—
“So, the director totally forgot his own script,” she says between bites, “and I had to remind him on set! Can you believe that?”
She waves her fork dramatically, eyes wide, as if reliving every chaotic moment.
I listen quietly, letting her voice fill the space, grounding me in something oddly warm — loud, messy, and real.
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- Writer
