The therapist secret

Chapter 11

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Bella sat at her kitchen table, staring blankly at her coffee cup. The steam rose in lazy spirals, but she barely noticed. Last night's events played on an endless loop in her mind, refusing to be silenced.

The kiss.

The feel of Layla's lips on hers, soft and desperate, lingered in the corners of her thoughts like a ghost she couldn't shake. It had been so brief, yet so intense, as if years of unspoken feelings had collided in a single moment of reckless vulnerability. Bella's chest ached, torn between the memory and the guilt that followed.

She had crossed a line. Or maybe, they both had.

Her phone buzzed on the table, jarring her from her thoughts. For a brief second, her heart leapt, thinking it might be Layla. But when she picked it up, it was just a work email. She sighed, her shoulders sagging as the tension that had been sitting heavy on her all morning settled even deeper.

Layla hadn't called. Not a text, not even a hint of the awkwardness that would surely follow. Bella wondered if maybe Layla was just pretending it hadn't happened. Maybe that was the easier way to cope. But for Bella, there was no pretending. The kiss had shifted everything inside her, stirring up emotions she thought she could keep hidden.

She took a sip of her coffee, but the bitterness only made her stomach churn. Last night, after Layla had kissed her and disappeared into her room, Bella had barely slept. She'd lingered in Layla's apartment far longer than she should have, pacing and replaying every moment in her head. Every breath, every touch. Wondering if she had ruined everything, wondering if Layla even remembered what happened.

As the morning wore on, Bella forced herself to focus on work. Files and notes lay scattered across her table, but none of them made sense. Layla's note—simple and cold—felt like it was mocking her. *We'll talk later.*

But would they? And what would they even say?

The hours passed slowly, the day dragging on as Bella tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But by the time afternoon arrived, she couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her jacket, slipping it on as she left the apartment. Maybe some air would clear her head. Maybe a walk would calm the storm inside her.

Or maybe she just needed to get away from the silence that felt too loud.

The streets were busy, filled with people moving about their day, unaware of the chaos in Bella's mind. She walked aimlessly, her hands buried deep in her jacket pockets, her gaze unfocused as she wandered through the city. But no matter how far she walked, she couldn't escape the thoughts of Layla.

Eventually, she found herself near Layla's new job. The little book and vinyl shop stood on the corner, quaint and charming with its weathered brick exterior and large windows displaying a mix of books and records. Bella's feet slowed as she neared it, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

Was Layla inside? Would she even want to see her?

Before Bella could decide what to do, the door swung open, and Layla stepped out. For a moment, Bella froze. Layla hadn't seen her yet, too busy pulling her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picked up. But then, as if sensing Bella's presence, Layla's eyes lifted, locking onto hers.

For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved. Bella's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. She couldn't tell what Layla was thinking—her face was unreadable, her expression blank in a way that made Bella's chest tighten with dread.

And then, slowly, Layla crossed the street, making her way toward Bella. Every step felt like an eternity, the space between them shrinking and expanding all at once. By the time Layla reached her, Bella could barely think straight.

"Hey," Layla said, her voice quiet but steady.

"Hey," Bella replied, her own voice barely above a whisper.

They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, the world moving around them like an afterthought. Bella searched Layla's face, trying to gauge her mood, but Layla was giving nothing away.

"I've been thinking about last night," Layla began, her words careful, deliberate. "And I... I don't know what to say."

Bella swallowed, her throat tight. "Layla, I—"

"No," Layla interrupted, holding up a hand. "Let me talk. I kissed you, and I was drunk, and... and maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. But I can't pretend like I didn't feel something. I just—" She broke off, her eyes flicking to the ground. "I don't know what to do with that."

Bella's heart ached at the vulnerability in Layla's voice. "You don't have to know right now," she said softly. "We don't have to figure it all out today."

Layla looked up at her, her eyes filled with uncertainty, but also with something deeper. Something that mirrored Bella's own confusion, her own longing. "I don't want things to be weird between us," Layla whispered. "But I don't know how to go back to the way things were."

Bella felt a pang of guilt at Layla's words, knowing that she was the reason things were shifting. She had crossed the boundary between therapist and friend, and now there was no easy way to untangle the mess they were in.

"I don't either," Bella admitted. "But I can't... I can't pretend like I don't care about you, Layla. Not like that."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. Bella could see the conflict in Layla's eyes, the way she was struggling to make sense of her feelings. And maybe, Bella thought, they didn't have to have all the answers right now.

"Maybe we just take it one step at a time," Bella suggested. "We don't have to rush anything. We'll figure it out."

Layla nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "Yeah. One step at a time."

They stood in silence for a moment longer, the tension between them easing just enough for Bella to breathe again. Layla wasn't leaving, and that was enough for now.

As they walked side by side down the street, Bella couldn't help but glance at Layla, the memory of last night's kiss still fresh in her mind. She didn't know what the future held for them, but she knew one thing for sure—she wasn't ready to let go.

Not now. Not ever.