Chapter Three — Boundaries
2395 Words
By Thursday morning, I had convinced myself that I was over Noah.
Completely.
Absolutely.
Not even remotely interested.
Which was impressive, considering I'd spent the previous night staring at my ceiling and replaying a conversation with a man I had known for approximately two weeks.
Pathetic.
I rolled onto my stomach and grabbed my phone.
Maya:Don't forget your appointment with Mr. Blue Eyes.
I frowned.
I hadn't told her about his eyes.
Then again, Maya had known me for fifteen years.
She could probably tell when I was attracted to someone by the way I breathed.
I typed back.
Me:His name is Noah.
Her reply came instantly.
Maya:You remembered.
Me:He's my therapist.
Maya:That's not helping your case.
I ignored her.
Because she was wrong.
There was nothing happening.
Noah was twenty-eight.
I was thirty.
He wasn't interested in relationships.
I wasn't looking for one.
And most importantly, he was treating me.
There was a line.
A very clear line.
And I wasn't going to cross it.
I got dressed, pulled my hair into a loose bun and grabbed my handbag.
Before leaving, I looked at myself in the mirror.
My body was still something I was learning to understand.
Curvy.
Soft.
Heavy in places that had always made me self-conscious.
For years, I'd tried to hide it.
Long cardigans.
Oversized shirts.
Dark colours.
Clothes that swallowed me instead of fitting me.
I'd convinced myself that if I could make myself look smaller, I'd feel better.
The diagnosis had forced me to confront something I'd spent years avoiding.
My body wasn't my enemy.
It was simply a body.
A body that needed care.
A body that deserved patience.
I was trying to believe that.
Some days were easier than others.
Today wasn't one of them.
But I was going anyway.
───
The clinic door opened with a soft chime.
And there he was.
Noah stood behind the reception desk, speaking to the receptionist.
Dark hair.
Black trousers.
Sleeves pushed to his elbows.
And those eyes.
Blue.
Not ordinary blue, either.
The kind of blue that seemed almost unfair on a man who was already too attractive for my peace of mind.
His gaze lifted.
Found mine.
And for a second, the conversation at reception seemed to disappear.
Then his mouth curved.
“Morning, Lena.”
My heart did something stupid.
“Morning.”
“You're early.”
“I'm two minutes early.”
“Still counts.”
“You keep track of my arrival times now?”
“I notice things.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds suspicious.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Suspicious?”
“Potentially.”
“I'm at work.”
“That's exactly what someone suspicious would say.”
He laughed.
And there it was.
That stupid laugh.
Warm.
Low.
Effortlessly amused.
I looked away.
“You're annoying.”
“You came back.”
“Unfortunately.”
His blue eyes sparkled.
“You say that every time.”
“Maybe you'll eventually believe me.”
“I don't think I will.”
I hated the little flutter in my stomach.
I hated it even more when he smiled.
───
The treatment room was warm and quiet.
I changed behind the privacy screen, removing my clothes and wrapping the large towel securely around myself before lying down.
The treatment was full-body.
That was something I was still getting used to.
There was something profoundly vulnerable about lying there with my entire body exposed beneath a towel, knowing another person was working around me.
Not because Noah made me uncomfortable.
Quite the opposite.
He was professional.
Respectful.
He never stared.
Never made unnecessary comments.
Never made me feel ashamed.
And somehow, that made me trust him more.
Which was dangerous.
Because trust was the one thing I hadn't intended to give him.
“You're tense.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“I'm relaxed.”
“No, you're not.”
“Maybe this is relaxed for me.”
He chuckled.
“You've got your shoulders practically touching your ears.”
“I've had a stressful week.”
“Students?”
“Always.”
“Parents?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Men?”
I turned my head.
Noah was looking at me.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Why did you say men?”
“Because you've mentioned your exes several times.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“Five times?”
“Five men.”
I sighed.
“That's not my fault.”
“No?”
“No. Men are just committed to giving me material.”
His lips twitched.
“You've definitely had some bad luck.”
“Bad taste.”
He glanced at me.
“You said it.”
“I know.”
The room went quiet.
Then he asked,
“Do you really think you have bad taste?”
I shrugged.
“Historically?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“Maybe you're just choosing the wrong people.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“That's what everyone says.”
“Maybe everyone is right.”
“That's irritating.”
“Why?”
“Because then I have to admit I was part of the problem.”
His expression softened.
“Or you could admit you didn't know better.”
I turned my head again.
Our eyes met.
Those blue eyes were annoyingly calm.
“You're very philosophical for someone who spends his day telling people to hydrate.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
And just like that, the heaviness disappeared.
───
We talked through most of the session.
It was becoming a pattern.
I talked.
He listened.
Sometimes he teased me.
Sometimes I teased him.
Sometimes we sat in silence.
And somehow, the silence wasn't awkward.
That was new.
I'd never been good with silence.
Silence meant thinking.
Thinking meant feeling.
Feeling meant remembering.
And remembering wasn't something I enjoyed.
“So,” I said eventually, “why don't you date?”
He paused.
“You've asked me that before.”
“I know.”
“And I answered.”
“You gave me a terrible answer.”
“I said I don't have time.”
“That's not a real answer.”
He smiled.
“It's the answer you're getting.”
I frowned.
“You're secretive.”
“Maybe.”
“Suspicious.”
“Apparently.”
“Possibly emotionally unavailable.”
His hands paused for a moment.
I immediately regretted the words.
“Sorry.”
He looked at me.
“For what?”
“That was rude.”
“It was accurate.”
I blinked.
He didn't smile.
“You don't think relationships are worth it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said,
“Because people leave.”
My sarcasm disappeared.
That wasn't the answer I'd expected.
I looked at him.
He looked away.
Something in his face had changed.
Pain.
Briefly.
Barely there.
But I saw it.
I knew what it looked like when someone tried to hide something.
I'd spent years doing exactly that.
“I'm sorry,” I said quietly.
He looked back at me.
“Don't be.”
“Someone hurt you.”
His jaw tightened.
“Something like that.”
I didn't push.
For once, I didn't make a joke.
Maybe that was why he looked at me differently.
Not like a client.
Not exactly.
Just like someone he'd allowed a little closer.
The thought made my heart beat faster.
───
A few minutes later, he said,
“You know you don't have to joke every time something gets uncomfortable.”
My stomach dropped.
“I don't.”
“You do.”
“Maybe I like joking.”
“Maybe.”
I stared at the ceiling.
He continued quietly.
“Maybe it's how you protect yourself.”
My throat tightened.
I hated when people noticed things.
“That's a little creepy.”
“Occupational hazard.”
I smiled despite myself.
“You're really going to use that excuse for everything, aren't you?”
“Probably.”
I exhaled.
“It's easier.”
“What's easier?”
I swallowed.
“Making people laugh than letting them see you're hurt.”
Silence.
He didn't answer.
I suddenly wished I'd kept my mouth shut.
So naturally, I ruined the moment.
“Wow. That was disgustingly honest.”
He laughed softly.
“Terrifying, wasn't it?”
“Never again.”
“Of course.”
I smiled.
But the words stayed between us.
───
When the treatment ended, I sat up slowly.
Noah stepped away to give me privacy while I changed.
I appreciated that.
I always appreciated that.
When I emerged fully dressed, he handed me my water bottle.
“Drink.”
I stared at him.
“You're obsessed.”
“Hydration matters.”
“You've become my mother.”
“Your mother sounds sensible.”
“She is. Unfortunately.”
He smiled.
I took the bottle.
Our fingers brushed.
It was an accident.
Nothing more.
But neither of us moved immediately.
I looked up.
Those blue eyes met mine.
Something shifted.
A tiny spark.
A moment that shouldn't have existed.
Then Noah pulled his hand away.
“Sorry.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“Nothing.”
He turned toward the counter.
Professional.
Controlled.
But I couldn't stop thinking about that second.
Neither could he.
I could tell.
And that scared me.
───
I should have left.
Instead, I leaned against the door.
“Can I ask you something?”
He looked over.
“Sure.”
“Do you think I'm attractive?”
The words left my mouth before my brain could stop them.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
I wanted to disappear.
I laughed nervously.
“I don't know why I asked that.”
Noah didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved over my face, not my body.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“Lena…”
That was all.
My heart pounded.
“What?”
He looked away.
“You shouldn't ask me that.”
My cheeks burned.
“Right.”
“I mean—”
“No, it's fine.”
“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn't.”
He looked at me again.
“I don't want to cross a line.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
He took a breath.
Then said,
“For what it's worth, there's nothing about you that needs to be hidden.”
I froze.
He hadn't answered my question.
Not directly.
But somehow, it felt like he had.
My eyes stung.
I looked down.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“You're welcome.”
I left before I could say anything else.
───
I sat in my car for nearly five minutes.
My hands rested on the steering wheel.
I couldn't start the engine.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said.
There's nothing about you that needs to be hidden.
No man had ever said anything like that to me.
I'd been told to lose weight.
Tone up.
Dress differently.
Wear less revealing clothes.
Wear more flattering clothes.
Hide my arms.
Hide my legs.
Don't eat this.
Don't eat that.
Try this diet.
Try that workout.
I had spent years believing my body was something I needed to apologise for.
And Noah hadn't once made me feel that way.
Not once.
He'd treated me like my body wasn't something shameful.
Like I wasn't something that needed fixing.
Like I was simply—
me.
And maybe that was why I was starting to fall.
Not because he was handsome.
Not because of his blue eyes.
Not because his hands were gentle.
But because around him, I didn't feel like I needed to disappear.
My phone rang.
Maya.
I answered.
“Hello?”
“Tell me everything.”
“There's nothing to tell.”
“Lena.”
I sighed.
“He said something.”
“What?”
I hesitated.
“He said there was nothing about me that needed to be hidden.”
Silence.
Then—
“Oh.”
“What?”
“That's not a normal therapist sentence.”
“He's not my therapist exactly.”
“Lena.”
“I mean—he's my practitioner.”
“That's worse.”
I laughed.
“I know.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you falling for him?”
I stared through the windscreen.
The answer came before I could stop it.
“Yes.”
My voice was barely audible.
Maya went quiet.
And for the first time, saying it aloud made it real.
I was falling for Noah.
A man who didn't want relationships.
A man who was responsible for my treatment.
A man who had already warned me about boundaries.
A man I couldn't have.
And somehow, knowing that didn't make me want him less.
It made me want him more.
───
Across town, Noah sat alone in his car.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Ethan.
Ethan:Drinks tonight?
He stared at the screen.
Then looked through the windscreen.
He could still see Lena's face.
The nervous smile.
The way she'd asked him if he found her attractive.
The way she'd looked embarrassed immediately afterward.
He closed his eyes.
He should have shut the conversation down completely.
Instead, he'd told her she had nothing to hide.
Because it was true.
And because he meant it.
That was the problem.
He hadn't wanted to admit it.
But he was attracted to her.
Not simply physically.
That would have been easier.
He liked her mind.
Her sarcasm.
Her stubbornness.
Her laugh.
The way she pretended not to care.
The way she cared too much.
He liked the woman underneath the armour.
And that was exactly the woman he had no right to want.
He opened his eyes.
Then typed a message.
Noah:Can't tonight.
Ethan replied.
Ethan:Busy?
Noah stared at the screen.
He almost typed yes.
Instead, he wrote:
Noah:Trying to stay out of trouble.
He put his phone down.
Because for the first time in a very long time, he knew exactly what trouble looked like.
And she had blue-green eyes—
No.
He stopped himself.
He didn't even know what colour her eyes were.
But he knew exactly what her smile looked like.
And that was already too much.
- Writer
