The therapist secret

Chapter 4

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Bella woke up to the sound of her alarm buzzing softly on the nightstand. The light filtering through her curtains was dim, the morning sky still heavy with clouds. She blinked groggily, her body stiff from the restless sleep that had claimed her the night before. The rain had stopped sometime in the early hours, leaving behind a cool, damp stillness that settled over the city like a blanket.

She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced at the clock. She had a few hours before her first session of the day, and her mind immediately went to Layla. She hadn't been able to shake the weight of their last conversation, the fear in Layla's voice as she relived her trauma in that coffee shop. The image of her, trapped in that corner, helpless, still clung to Bella.

Pushing herself out of bed, Bella padded to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, trying to clear the lingering fog from her mind. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, her hair a mess from tossing and turning all night. She frowned slightly, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail, trying to make herself look somewhat presentable for the day ahead.

As she went through the motions of getting ready—brushing her teeth, slipping into a simple blouse and slacks—her thoughts drifted back to Layla. It wasn't unusual for her to think about her patients outside of their sessions, but with Layla, it was different. There was a weight to it, a pull she couldn't ignore. Bella cared deeply for all the people she helped, but this... this felt personal in a way that made her uneasy.

She had tried to convince herself that it was just because she saw so much of herself in Layla's struggles, but the truth gnawed at her in the quiet moments when she was alone. It was something more.

As she moved to the kitchen to grab her bag, her eyes landed on the small container of leftovers in the fridge. Bella paused, the thought forming before she could stop it. She knew Layla often skipped meals, or forgot to eat when her anxiety took over. Without thinking too much about it, Bella grabbed the container and stuffed it into her bag.

It was just a simple gesture, she told herself. Something to show Layla that she was cared for, that someone was looking out for her. That's what therapists did, right?

But as Bella locked her apartment door and made her way to the office, a small part of her knew it wasn't *just* that. The lines between professional and personal were blurring, and the more time she spent with Layla, the harder it became to ignore the feelings that had started to stir inside her.

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When Bella arrived at her office, she settled in behind her desk, the familiar space offering a moment of calm before the day truly began. She placed the container of food on the desk, tapping her fingers lightly against it as she waited for Layla to arrive.

A soft knock on the door pulled Bella from her thoughts, and she glanced up just as Layla stepped inside. She looked as she always did—quiet, guarded, her hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. But there was something else today. A vulnerability in the way she stood, as if she were still carrying the weight of yesterday with her.

"Hey," Bella greeted, her voice gentle as she gestured to the chair. "How are you feeling?"

Layla hesitated before sitting, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater. "Better," she said softly, though her eyes didn't quite meet Bella's.

Bella studied her for a moment, her heart aching at the way Layla seemed so small, so fragile, despite the strength she knew was buried somewhere deep inside her. She wanted to reach across the space between them, to offer more than just words. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Instead, Bella leaned down and grabbed the container from her bag, sliding it across the desk toward Layla. "I brought you something to eat. I wasn't sure if you'd had breakfast."

Layla blinked in surprise, her eyes widening slightly as she stared at the container. She didn't reach for it right away, as if she wasn't sure what to do with the unexpected gesture. "You... didn't have to do that."

"I know," Bella replied softly. "But I wanted to. I just thought... you might need it."

For a moment, the silence stretched between them, and Bella could see the conflict in Layla's eyes—the walls she had built up over the years warring with the part of her that longed to be cared for. Slowly, Layla's fingers wrapped around the container, her grip tentative, like she wasn't used to accepting kindness.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice so quiet Bella almost didn't hear it.

Bella's chest tightened, a warmth spreading through her that was both comforting and terrifying. She tried to shake it off, to focus on the session, on the work they needed to do, but the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts.

"Layla," Bella began carefully, "I want you to know that you're not alone in this. I know yesterday was hard, and I know it might feel like you're drowning sometimes, but I'm here. You don't have to go through this on your own."

Layla's eyes met hers then, and for the first time in a long time, Bella saw something break through the walls. A flicker of trust. Of hope.

And in that moment, Bella realized what she had been avoiding for weeks.

She cared about Layla. More than she should. More than was appropriate.

It wasn't just empathy, or the connection she felt with her other patients. It was something deeper. Something dangerous.

The realization hit her with the force of a wave, crashing through her mind and leaving her breathless. She had crossed an invisible line somewhere along the way, and now there was no going back. The feelings she had for Layla weren't just professional concern—they were personal. Intimate.

And that terrified her.

Layla didn't seem to notice the shift in Bella's expression, too focused on the container of food in her hands. She opened it slowly, taking a small bite, and Bella watched her, feeling both a tenderness and an ache she couldn't quite explain.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Bella was supposed to help Layla heal, not get entangled in her own emotions. But here she was, standing on the edge of something she didn't fully understand, something she couldn't control.

"Do you think it'll ever get better?" Layla's voice broke through Bella's thoughts, soft and hesitant, as if she were afraid of the answer.

Bella swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on Layla, on her role as a therapist. "I think... with time, and support, it can. It's not going to be easy, but you're stronger than you think."

Layla looked at her, really looked at her, and Bella felt the weight of that gaze, the unspoken bond that had formed between them. She wanted to say more, to offer comfort, but the words stuck in her throat. Because what she really wanted to say was something she could never allow herself to.

"I believe in you," Bella finally said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Layla gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, and for a brief moment, Bella felt like maybe—just maybe—they were both going to be okay.

But as the session continued, the feelings lingered, hanging in the air between them like a secret neither of them was ready to confront.

And Bella knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again.