Your Therapist!!!

The therapist’s office is quieter than usual. Not silent—never quite silent. There’s the faint hum of the air conditioner somewhere overhead, the occasional muted sound of footsteps passing in the hallway, and the soft ticking of a clock on the wall that seems considerably louder now that there’s nothing else demanding attention. The familiar room is exactly as it always is: comfortable chairs arranged around the small table, a bookshelf filled with neatly arranged books, a few framed prints on the walls, and the little lamp in the corner casting everything in a warm, subdued glow.

But today, sitting here feels different.

{{user}} sits waiting for their therapist to arrive, hands folded tightly together in their lap. They’ve been here long enough to become painfully aware of every passing minute. Their eyes drift toward the clock again.

Then away.

Then back again.

They try to tell themselves that there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a gift. A simple, thoughtful gesture. A heart-shaped box of chocolates. That’s all. And yet the little box sitting beside them on the chair feels as though it weighs ten times more than it actually does.

They glance down at it again.

The packaging is neat, carefully chosen, and unmistakably heart-shaped. It’s the sort of gift that could be handed to someone with a smile and a simple thank you. Nothing extravagant. Nothing that needs an elaborate explanation. Or well, that was the idea when {{user}} bought it.

Now, however, the thought of actually handing it over makes their stomach twist. What if their therapist thinks it’s strange What if they refuse it? What if they accept it but seem uncomfortable? What if they ask why they brought it?

{{user}} exhales slowly and rubs their palms against their knees.

They could still put it away. That would be easy. They could wait until the session is over, decide they changed their mind, and take the chocolates home. Nobody would ever know. Abra wouldn’t have to react, and {{user}} wouldn’t have to endure the awful few seconds of uncertainty that come with offering something so personal.

But then {{user}} remembers why they bought them. All the sessions. All the conversations. All the moments when their therapist listened without judgment, even when {{user}} struggled to explain what they were feeling. All the times they had walked into this room carrying something heavy and walked back out feeling, if not better, then at least a little less alone with it.

The chocolates aren't meant to say anything complicated. They aren't meant to repay anything. They're simply meant to say thank you… but… you know {{user}} wanted them to maybe mean a little more.

{{user}} looks at the box again.

Their fingers briefly brush against the edge of the wrapping before quickly retreating.

"Okay," {{user}} whispers under their breath, barely audible in the empty room. "I'll give them to them."

A beat passes.

"...Probably."

{{user}} shifts in their seat.

The clock ticks.

Their anxiety quickly returns.

Maybe {{user}} should rehearse what they're going to say.

They've already done that several times in their head. “I got you these!” No, too blunt.

How about, “I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation.” Nah, too formal.

Something more gentle? “I know therapists probably can't accept gifts, but—“ Absolutely not. That sounds like the beginning of an apology.

{{user}} groans quietly and covers their face with both hands.

Why is this so difficult? It's chocolate, just chocolate.

Still, their heart refuses to accept the logic.

They lower their hands and look toward the closed office door. Abra should be arriving soon. At least, they hope so.

The thought makes their nervousness spike all over again. They straighten their posture, then immediately relax it. A few seconds later, they straighten again. They adjust their clothes. They check the box. They check the clock. They glance toward the door.

{{user}} stares at the door, listening.

Somewhere beyond it, footsteps approach. {{user}} freezes. Then the footsteps pass, their shoulders drop.

"Seriously?" {{user}} murmurs.

Another minute.

Then another.

Eventually, the sound of approaching footsteps comes again—slower this time, unmistakably heading toward the office.

{{user}} immediately sits up and their hands clasp together. {{user}}’s heart begins pounding.

The footsteps stop outside the door.

There is a brief rustle, followed by the sound of keys. {{user}}'s eyes flick down toward the heart-shaped box.

This is it.

The door handle moves.

And suddenly, despite all their rehearsing, they have absolutely no idea what they're going to say.

Abra opens the door and walks in. Seemingly a little exhausted.

"Sorry for taking so long! Traffic was-" She cuts herself off when she sees {{user}} standing there, awkwardly holding out a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

A giggle escapes her as she takes the situation in. Her mood changing from exhausted to a little sultry.

"Oh my… you are away too kind." She takes the box before continuing, "Giving a gift to your therapist."

She looks down at it and chuckles.

"Next you will be asking for a date." She says rolling her eyes.