Chapter Four — The Rule
2055 Words
I had decided I was not going to think about Noah.
This was my plan.
It was a good plan.
A mature plan.
A completely reasonable plan.
Unfortunately, my brain had other ideas.
Because apparently, once a woman develops a crush on a man she absolutely cannot have, her mind becomes a traitorous little demon determined to replay every conversation she's ever had with him.
There's nothing about you that needs to be hidden.
I heard his voice again.
I groaned and buried my face in my pillow.
“Stop.”
My brain ignored me.
Lena…
I sat up.
“No.”
This was ridiculous.
I had dated five terrible men and survived every single one of them.
I had survived being cheated on.
Lied to.
Manipulated.
Embarrassed.
And somehow, the thing that had me staring at my ceiling at midnight was a twenty-eight-year-old man with blue eyes who had never even kissed me.
That was humiliating.
I reached for my phone.
Maya:You alive?
I stared at the message.
Me:Unfortunately.
Maya:Thinking about him?
I didn't answer.
Maya:That means yes.
I threw the phone onto my bed.
I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
The problem was, I knew she'd eventually be right.
Because I wasn't just attracted to Noah.
I was curious about him.
I wanted to know what made him laugh when he wasn't at work.
What music he listened to.
What he did on weekends.
What his favourite food was.
Why relationships had apparently become a forbidden subject in his life.
And most importantly—
who had hurt him.
I hated that I wanted to know.
Because wanting to know someone was dangerous.
It meant caring.
And I was very good at not caring.
───
Thursday came far too quickly.
I arrived at the clinic five minutes late.
I had spent the first twenty minutes of my morning looking for my car keys, which had been in my handbag the entire time.
Clearly, I was thriving.
I walked through the clinic doors.
Noah looked up.
Those blue eyes immediately found mine.
And that tiny smile appeared.
“You're late.”
I checked the clock.
“Five minutes.”
“Still late.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Maybe I am.”
My heart skipped.
I stared at him.
He smiled.
“I was worried you'd decided not to come.”
Oh.
That was worse.
“Why would I?”
He shrugged.
“People change their minds.”
I swallowed.
“Not me.”
His gaze held mine.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked away.
“Treatment room.”
I followed him.
My heart was beating much too fast.
───
The routine was becoming familiar.
I changed.
Wrapped myself securely in the towel.
Lay down.
And Noah began the full-body treatment.
It should have felt ordinary by now.
It didn't.
Not anymore.
I was acutely aware of him.
His voice.
His movements.
His presence.
The professionalism.
Especially the professionalism.
Because he was careful.
Always.
If the towel needed adjusting, he told me first.
If I needed to turn, he explained what he was doing.
If I was uncomfortable, he stopped.
He never made me feel exposed.
And somehow that made me feel more exposed than anything else.
“You're quiet.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“I'm thinking.”
“That's dangerous.”
“Very.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Probably.”
He laughed softly.
I smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That laugh.”
“What about it?”
“I like it.”
Silence.
Oh.
Why had I said that?
I closed my eyes.
“Forget I said that.”
“I don't think I can.”
“Try.”
“I'll consider it.”
“You're impossible.”
“I've been told.”
I smiled.
Then his voice became quieter.
“You look more comfortable.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“Here.”
I frowned.
“What makes you say that?”
“You're not holding your breath anymore.”
I hadn't realised.
I let out a slow breath.
“Maybe I'm getting used to it.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe you're not as terrifying as I thought.”
He laughed.
“I was never terrifying.”
“You were a strange man in a clinic touching my legs.”
“Fair.”
“And now you're just a strange man in a clinic.”
“Progress.”
I laughed.
───
The conversation drifted toward school.
I told him about one of my students who had somehow managed to lose three pencils, a lunchbox and one shoe before lunchtime.
“One shoe?”
“One shoe.”
“How?”
“I have no idea.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Still attached to his foot.”
Noah laughed.
I smiled.
I loved making him laugh.
That realisation caught me off guard.
I didn't just like hearing him laugh.
I liked being the reason.
That was dangerous territory.
“So,” he said, “do you enjoy teaching?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But sometimes I think children are tiny criminals.”
He laughed.
“That's harsh.”
“You haven't met my Grade Sixes.”
“I'll take your word for it.”
“I love them.”
“Even the criminals?”
“Especially the criminals.”
He was quiet.
Then he said,
“You're good at it.”
I smiled.
“How do you know?”
“Because you talk about them differently.”
“How?”
“Like you care.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Caring is exhausting.”
“So is not caring.”
I looked toward him.
He was looking at me.
Blue eyes.
Calm.
Steady.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Then I looked away.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
His voice was gentle.
“Like what?”
“Like you know me.”
He was quiet.
“Maybe I'm starting to.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I closed my eyes.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
We weren't supposed to become friends.
We weren't supposed to talk about our lives.
We definitely weren't supposed to look at each other like this.
And yet—
here we were.
───
When the session ended, Noah stepped away as usual while I changed.
I dressed quickly.
When I came out, he was standing beside the desk.
He handed me my water.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
I took a sip.
Then looked at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You usually do.”
“Why are you always so careful?”
His expression changed.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
He frowned slightly.
“You're my client.”
“I know.”
“Then you know why.”
I nodded.
“I just mean…”
I hesitated.
“You never make me feel uncomfortable.”
He didn't say anything.
“You could,” I continued quietly. “I mean, I'm vulnerable during these treatments. But you never—”
I stopped.
He understood.
His expression softened.
“Because you deserve to feel safe.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside me.
“Even with you?”
“Especially with me.”
I stared at him.
Something about that answer hurt.
Because I suddenly understood.
He wasn't keeping his distance because he didn't feel anything.
He was keeping his distance because he did.
Maybe.
Or perhaps I was simply desperate enough to interpret kindness as attraction.
I looked away.
“Right.”
He studied me.
“Lena.”
“Hmm?”
“There's something you need to understand.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
His voice was careful.
“We need boundaries.”
I went completely still.
“I know.”
“No. I don't think you do.”
I looked at him.
His expression was serious.
“This is a professional relationship.”
“I know.”
“And I don't want anything to happen that makes you uncomfortable.”
“Nothing is happening.”
“I know.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“But that's exactly why we need to keep it that way.”
I swallowed.
There it was.
The line.
Clearly drawn.
And strangely, instead of making me feel relieved—
it disappointed me.
“Okay.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I picked up my bag.
“See you next week.”
“Lena.”
I stopped.
He looked like he wanted to say something else.
He didn't.
“Have a good day.”
I smiled faintly.
“You too.”
I walked out.
And for the first time since meeting him, I wished he hadn't been so careful.
───
I made it to my car.
Then sat down.
The tears came before I understood why.
I wiped them away angrily.
“What the hell?”
I wasn't heartbroken.
I barely knew the man.
So why did it feel like I'd just been rejected?
Maybe because I'd finally allowed myself to imagine something.
Something stupid.
Something impossible.
Something that had felt safe.
I laughed bitterly.
Of course.
Every time something felt good, life had to remind me not to trust it.
My phone buzzed.
Maya:How was your session?
I stared at the screen.
Me:He set a boundary.
Her response was immediate.
Maya:Good.
I frowned.
Me:That's not the response I wanted.
Maya:It's the response you need.
I sighed.
She was right.
Of course she was.
Maya:Does he like you?
I stared at the question.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I didn't know.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to say no.
Instead, I typed:
Me:I don't know.
Her response took longer this time.
Maya:Then don't chase an answer.
I locked my phone.
Good advice.
I wasn't going to chase.
I wasn't going to flirt.
I wasn't going to make things awkward.
I wasn't going to fall for him.
Simple.
I started my car.
Then stopped.
Because I realised something.
I was smiling.
Despite everything.
Because even though Noah had drawn a line between us, he hadn't made me feel ashamed.
He hadn't rejected me as a woman.
He had simply protected the boundary between us.
And somehow, that made me respect him more.
Which was possibly the worst possible outcome.
───
That night, Noah stood in his kitchen staring at a cup of coffee he'd forgotten to drink.
His phone sat on the counter.
He hadn't touched it in twenty minutes.
He was thinking about Lena.
Again.
Her smile.
Her laugh.
The way she'd looked at him when he'd said they needed boundaries.
He knew he'd done the right thing.
He had to.
But doing the right thing didn't make it easy.
His phone buzzed.
Ethan:You disappeared again.
Noah sighed.
Noah:Busy.
Ethan:With work?
He stared at the message.
Then typed:
Noah:Yeah.
He deleted it.
Typed again.
Noah:Something like that.
Ethan replied immediately.
Ethan:There's a woman.
Noah frowned.
Noah:No.
Ethan:That was a very fast answer.
Noah put the phone down.
He didn't want to talk about it.
Because admitting there was a woman would mean admitting that he was thinking about her.
And admitting that would mean confronting the truth.
He wanted Lena.
Not as a client.
Not as someone he was responsible for treating.
As a woman.
A woman who made him laugh.
A woman who challenged him.
A woman who looked at him as though she could see straight through every wall he'd built.
And that was precisely why he needed to stay away.
He walked to the window.
Outside, the city lights blurred against the glass.
He closed his eyes.
Then remembered her asking him one simple question.
Do you think I'm attractive?
His jaw tightened.
He hadn't answered.
Because if he had—
there would have been no going back.
He opened his eyes.
He needed distance.
He needed control.
He needed to remember that she was his client.
Nothing more.
So why was the first thing he thought about when he woke up the next morning—
Lena?
And why was the last thing he thought about before falling asleep—
her?
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