The therapist secret

Chapter 20

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Layla didn't remember much of the days that followed. They blurred together in a haze of sleepless nights, empty stares, and numb emotions. The vinyl store felt quieter than usual, the rhythm of her life slowing to a standstill. She couldn't escape the ache that settled in her chest, the hollow emptiness Bella had left behind.

It wasn't that she hadn't been rejected before, but this—this was different. It felt like losing a part of herself she hadn't realized existed until it was gone. Bella had seen her in ways no one else ever had, and now that connection had been severed. Cold, clean, and final. Or at least, that's what Layla kept telling herself.

She found herself standing outside Bella's office again, like some sort of cruel ritual she couldn't break. Each time she told herself she wouldn't go inside. Each time, she stood there, staring at the door, wondering if Bella was inside, thinking of her too.

But Layla never knocked.

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One evening, nearly a month after the last time she had seen Bella, Layla found herself at a bar again. It wasn't the same one where they had kissed, but it didn't matter. Every bar felt the same now—loud, full of people who seemed to be moving on with their lives, while Layla stayed stuck in place.

She was nursing her third drink, staring blankly at the amber liquid, when a familiar voice broke through the noise.

"You're becoming a regular here, aren't you?"

Layla glanced up to see the guy from the bar—the one who had flirted with her, the one she had led on while drowning in confusion. He was smiling that same easy smile, but tonight, it didn't bring any warmth.

"Yeah," Layla said, her voice flat. "Something like that."

He slid into the seat beside her, his eyes searching her face for something. "You look like you could use some company."

Layla sighed, swirling the whiskey in her glass before taking a sip. "I'm not really in the mood for company."

He chuckled, unfazed. "You weren't last time either. But here we are again."

Layla didn't respond. She wasn't interested in small talk, in flirting, in pretending to be something she wasn't. She wanted the distraction, yes, but not the kind he was offering.

He watched her for a moment, and when she didn't say anything else, he leaned closer. "You know, you don't have to be alone all the time. I could—"

"Please don't," Layla interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. "I'm not... I'm just not interested."

The guy blinked, clearly taken aback. "Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Layla said quickly, standing up and grabbing her coat. "I just need to go."

Before he could say anything else, Layla was out the door, the cool night air hitting her like a slap to the face. She walked down the street, her feet carrying her toward nowhere in particular. She didn't want to go home, but she didn't want to be anywhere either.

For the first time in weeks, she let herself think about Bella—really think about her. Not just the pain of what had happened, but everything. The connection they had shared, the unspoken feelings that had lingered between them, the kiss that had set everything into motion.

Bella had told her to let go, but how could she? How do you let go of someone who felt like home?

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