Ghosted
943 Words
Ghosted
Three sessions.
Three empty Wednesdays.
The seat across from her stayed untouched, and it was driving her insane.
Avril didn’t want to admit how much space Khaid had taken up in her head, but every time the clock hit 12:59 PM, her heart did that stupid maybe today flutter. And every time it ticked past 1:10, it curled into something heavier.
She tried to be logical.
Clients drop out.
This was normal, nothing to get anxious about.
Some people aren’t ready for therapy.
Maybe his grandfather gave up. Maybe Khaid got what he needed from those sessions and didn’t care for more.
But none of that explained why her chest tightened every time she remembered how he looked at her before he left.
Not angry. Not cold.
Just… unreadable.
By the second missed session, she was replaying their last conversation in her head.
Had she pushed too hard?
Had he seen something in her expression?
Something that made him feel exposed?
Was she not good enough practitioner?
She remembered the way he’d leaned forward that day, asked about change, and watched her like her answer mattered more than she realized.
Maybe she’d said the wrong thing.
Maybe she’d crossed a line without meaning to.
She hated not knowing.
By the third week, even Priya noticed her energy had shifted.
“You’re writing the same sentence five times,” she said, peering over Avril’s shoulder. “Whatever’s on your mind, it's not your plot.”
Avril closed her laptop. “It’s just writer’s block.”
Priya squinted. “Writer’s block that looks like a six-foot therapy client with commitment issues?”
Avril threw a pillow at her. “He’s not—ugh. You’re so annoying.”
Priya cackled. “I’m right though.”
Avril didn’t respond. Because Priya was right, and that was the worst part.
Later that night, she read the journal again.
One entry had been scribbled in the margins of a half-empty page.
“If I vanish, I wonder who would notice.”
She read it twice.
Then once more.
And suddenly, her obsession didn’t feel so harmless anymore.
Avril was tired. Not the kind that sleep could fix, but the kind that curled into her bones and made the silence in her apartment feel loud.
She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and headed straight for the fridge. Therapy had been brutal, even without Khaid. Especially without him.
The air felt different tonight. Heavier.
She paused.
Something was off.
She broke out in a cold sweat.
The light in the living room was on. She was sure she hadn’t left it that way.
And then she saw him.
Khaid.
“I'd better be imagining things” but his facial features and expressions were to vivid to be a figment of her imagination.
Sitting on her couch like he belonged there.
Like this was normal.
Like she was the one trespassing.
“What the hell—” she froze mid-step. “How did you get in here?.”
He looked up slowly. His eyes were darker than she remembered. Not cold—just… tired. Worn down. Distant.
“You left the door unlocked.”
“I did not,” she snapped, heart thudding now.
“You did,” he replied calmly.
“I'm sure I did not” she was beginning to get very anxious and he could sense it
“Or maybe you forgot. Either way, I’m here.”he seemed to be enjoying her reaction
She stood frozen by the fridge, too stunned to move, too furious to speak. “You missed three sessions.”
“I know.”
“You broke into my home.”
He tilted his head. “Would it feel better if I said I needed to talk?”
“No. It would feel better if you respected boundaries.”
“I didn’t come to talk about me,” he said, standing up.
She took a step back.
“I came to talk about you.”
That stopped her cold.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Khaid walked toward her—unhurried, calm, as if this entire situation wasn’t insane.
“I’m tired of talking about myself. I want to understand you, instead. You already know more about me than I’m comfortable with.”
She stared at him. “You think breaking into my home is the way to do that?”
He shrugged. “You write about people like you’ve lived their pain. I want to know where that comes from.”
She blinked.
“What did you say?”
He stepped closer.
“I read something,” he said, like it was no big deal.“A page you left open on your desk. Sounded like you.”
Her chest tightened. Her laptop. The ghostwriting.
The journal.
No. No no no.
He couldn’t know.
“You need to leave,” she said, voice shaky.
He didn’t.
Instead, he looked around like he was cataloging her life.
“You have good taste in books,” he murmured. “But you hide behind them.”
Her jaw clenched. “Khaid. Leave.”
He looked at her then—really looked.
And for the first time, she saw it.
The storm behind his silence.
And maybe… the mirror of her own.
“I’ll go,” he said, turning toward the door. “But I’ll be back next week. For therapy. If you’ll still have me.”
And just like that, he left.
Avril stood there, pulse racing, wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing.
Except the door clicked shut behind him.
And her journal drawer was slightly ajar.
- Writer
