The therapist secret

Chapter 5

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Bella had never imagined herself in this position. Falling in love with a patient was not something that happened in real life, not to her at least. She had always been so careful about boundaries, so diligent in keeping her personal life separate from her work. But with Layla, something had shifted, and as Bella sat in the stillness of her office, the memories of how it all started flooded back, each one a step down the path that had led her here.

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It had been subtle at first, so subtle Bella didn't notice it happening. Layla had been just another patient, a young woman with trauma that needed to be unpacked, processed, and healed. Bella had seen so many people like her over the years, each one carrying their own pain, their own story. She had developed a method—professional, detached enough to protect her own heart but still empathetic enough to be effective. It worked. It had always worked.

But with Layla, something had been different from the start.

Bella remembered their very first session, how Layla had walked into the room with her head down, her shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing her into the ground. She hadn't said much that day, just enough to let Bella know the outline of her story. It had been a simple introduction, but there had been something about Layla's quiet vulnerability that tugged at Bella. Even then, something in her had recognized the fragility of Layla's soul.

The next few sessions had followed the same routine. Bella would ask questions, and Layla would answer in short, clipped sentences, her eyes never quite meeting Bella's. She was guarded, reluctant to open up, and Bella had accepted that. It was part of the process. But over time, as Layla began to trust her, those small cracks in the armor started to show.

Bella started to notice things she hadn't noticed with other patients.

The way Layla would twist her hands together in her lap when she was nervous, her fingers knotting into tight fists when a painful memory surfaced. The way she'd tuck her hair behind her ear, almost absentmindedly, whenever she was trying to find the right words to describe how she felt. The way her voice would drop to barely a whisper when she talked about her past, as if speaking it aloud might make it hurt more.

Those little details had seemed innocent enough at first, just observations that helped Bella understand Layla better. But somewhere along the line, they started to mean more. Bella found herself waiting for those small moments, those subtle gestures. She found herself looking for them, listening for the way Layla's voice softened when she let her guard down, or how her eyes would flicker with something close to hope when Bella told her she was strong.

It wasn't just the way Layla carried her pain that drew Bella in—it was the way she fought against it. Despite everything she had been through, despite the darkness that clung to her, Layla still tried. She still wanted to get better, to find her way out of the mess life had left her in. There was something so heartbreakingly beautiful about that struggle, and Bella couldn't help but admire her for it.

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The first time Bella realized her feelings for Layla went beyond the professional was on a rainy afternoon, much like the one that had just passed. Layla had been sitting in her usual spot, talking about a dream she'd had the night before—a nightmare, really. Her voice had trembled as she described the darkness, the way it had swallowed her whole, leaving her screaming in the void. Bella had felt a deep, almost instinctive urge to reach out, to take Layla's hand and tell her she wasn't alone.

But she hadn't. She couldn't.

Instead, Bella had sat there, nodding, her hands folded tightly in her lap, fighting against the impulse to offer comfort in a way that crossed the line. It had been the first time she had felt that kind of pull toward a patient. The need to protect, to hold, to care for them in ways that went beyond therapy. It had scared her.

That night, she had gone home and tried to shake it off, telling herself that it was just empathy, just part of the job. But the feeling had lingered. She couldn't stop thinking about Layla, about the pain she carried, about the quiet strength that lived just beneath the surface. Bella found herself replaying their sessions in her mind, not just as a therapist analyzing a case, but as someone who cared about the person sitting across from her.

She began to notice other things, too.

Like how Layla's laughter—rare as it was—was soft and unexpected, like a secret being shared. Bella had once said something offhand during a session, something small to lighten the mood, and Layla had laughed. It was brief, barely more than a chuckle, but Bella remembered how it had sounded. How it had made her chest feel warm in a way that wasn't entirely professional.

And then there were the moments when Layla would talk about something she loved. Books, mostly. She loved stories, loved the way they could take her out of herself for a little while. Bella had watched the way her face lit up when she talked about her favorite authors, the way her eyes sparkled with a light that Bella hadn't seen in her before. It was in those moments, when Layla allowed herself to be happy, even for just a fleeting second, that Bella felt her heart squeeze in her chest.

She wanted more of those moments. She wanted to be the reason Layla smiled, the reason she laughed. It was dangerous, Bella knew that. But the more time she spent with Layla, the harder it became to ignore the way her heart reacted to her presence.

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It had all come to a head the day Bella brought her food. It had seemed like such a small gesture at the time, but when Layla had looked at her, her eyes filled with surprise and something else Bella couldn't quite name, it had hit her like a ton of bricks.

She loved her.

The realization had been terrifying, suffocating in its clarity. Bella had never intended for this to happen, never wanted to cross that line. But it was too late. She had already fallen, and there was no going back now.

Bella thought about the way Layla had taken the food, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the kindness. The way she had looked at Bella, like she didn't quite know what to do with the gesture, like she wasn't used to someone caring for her like that. And Bella had realized, in that moment, just how deeply she cared.

It wasn't just about wanting to help Layla heal anymore. It was about wanting to be there for her, in every way. Bella wanted to protect her from the world, from the pain that had scarred her so deeply. She wanted to be the one Layla turned to, not just in the office, but outside of it.

But she couldn't.

Bella knew she couldn't act on these feelings. It was unethical, unprofessional, and wrong. Layla deserved a therapist who could focus on her healing, not someone who was falling in love with her. But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

And now, as Bella sat in her office, waiting for Layla's next session to begin, she couldn't stop the thoughts from swirling in her mind. The memories of all the small moments that had led her here, to this impossible, heartbreaking place.

She wasn't sure what to do, how to navigate this new reality. All she knew was that she loved Layla. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't undo that.