Chapter Three: Sessions
560 Words
The waiting room smelled like lavender and old books.
Zara shifted in her seat, fingers tapping her knee, eyes flitting to the antique clock on the wall. It ticked in slow, deliberate clicks—like it was watching her unravel minute by minute.
Dr. Lena was running late.
Zara didn’t mind. Therapy days were both a burden and a relief, like peeling back your own skin just enough to feel again. It was messy work. But Dr. Lena always knew how to handle the mess.
Finally, the office door opened.
“Zara?” Dr. Lena's voice was soft and professional, but always threaded with warmth.
Zara stood. “Morning.”
“Come in.”
She stepped into the familiar room: navy armchairs, a fern that refused to die, and the same calming painting of an abstract skyline that she still hadn’t figured out. Zara sank into her chair, legs curled underneath her, like always.
Dr. Lena took her seat, notebook in hand.
“So,” Lena began. “How was your week?”
Zara hesitated. Her brain gave her two choices: tell the truth or keep Adrian to herself.
She went with the in-between.
“It was... strange.”
“Strange how?”
Zara paused. “I met someone. On a bridge. At night.”
Lena raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing.
“He was standing on the edge. Looked like he was about to jump.”
Now Lena spoke. “And what did you do?”
“I talked him down. Or maybe distracted him long enough. I don’t know. It worked.”
“And how did that feel?”
Zara blinked. “What kind of question is that? I stopped someone from dying. It should feel... good.”
“But it doesn’t?”
Zara stared at the floor. “It feels unfinished. Like I interrupted something I had no business in.”
Lena scribbled a note.
“You’ve been that person before,” she said gently.
Zara looked at her. “Yeah. More than once.”
“And someone stopped you?”
Zara smiled bitterly. “No. I just got tired of waiting to hit bottom.”
There was a pause.
“Did you see him again?” Lena asked.
Zara hesitated. “Yes. We had coffee. Nothing happened. We just... talked.”
Lena's pen stopped moving. “What’s his name?”
“Adrian.”
The pen dropped into silence again.
Lena’s face twitched—just barely—but Zara caught it.
“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing,” Lena said too quickly. “It’s just... a familiar name.”
Zara studied her therapist. For the first time in two years of sessions, Lena looked unsettled.
“Do you know him?” Zara asked.
Lena folded her hands neatly. “Let’s focus on you for now.”
Zara’s instincts flared. “You do know him.”
Lena gave a careful smile. “This session is about you, Zara. Your emotions. Your patterns. Not mine.”
Zara didn’t press, but her mind spun with possibilities. Coincidence? Maybe. But her gut told her otherwise.
She left the office that day with more questions than clarity.
And as she walked down the street, Zara found herself wondering who exactly Adrian was… and why her therapist looked like she’d seen a ghost when she said his name.
- Writer
