Anemone

Plum: Thistle

"Why do you keep coming here, then?"

He looked at the small sundries on the desk he sat across from, eyeing the snow globes collected from around the world. Even from countries where there would never be snow, but were found within an abundance of small trinkets to be bought at the gift shops that lined the tourist packed streets.

"Amias."

"Dr. Naran," he returned quietly. Her face was open at his lack of cooperation as she crossed her legs and set her notebook down on her knee.

"From before our very first session, I could already tell you didn't want to be here, and I accept that," she said. She smoothed out the wrinkles on her gray pants. "But you're here for a reason and that reason is because someone is worried about your well-being."

"Seona is always worried. And always will be worried," Amias sighed. He pushed back his black hair out of his face and avoided looking his therapist in the eyes. Dr. Naran frowned at that and leaned forward slightly.

"Then what caused Seona to be worried this time?"

Outside was winter. It never snowed in a place like this, and even on its coldest days did the sun do its best to shine over those who stood under it, though the wind bit enough to wear a couple of layers and to appreciate a cup from the nearest coffee shop.

Amias ran a hand over one of the black sleeves of his hoodie.

"Because I'm an idiot who lets things happen and doesn't do a thing about them," he said. His eyes drooped. "I don't fight for what I want. I don't do anything to change what I can. I don't want to know what happens next."

Dr. Naran could feel a bubble of sympathy swell in her chest but kept it under her front of professionalism.

"Amias—"

"How many tally marks do you have on your wrist, Doctor?"

She paused. Many people across the world were secretive about their tallies because of how personal they were and what they stood for.

A red tally meant falling in love. A blue tally meant that love returned. A purple tally meant your other falling out of love with you. A pink tally meant falling out of love yourself. A black tally meant death.

A white tally meant falling in love with your soulmate.

It was a phenomenon humanity lived with since the dawn of time with no explanation, but had always been a trend in popular culture despite the secrecy that surrounded it. Red tallies were to be expected, black tallies were the most sympathized, and purple tallies were never considered permanent because there would always be a time when it would gradually transition to pink.

"I have three," she replied honestly. "Two pink, one white."

Amias smiled.

"I'm glad you're happy, then," he said. He played with the cuff of his sleeve and zoned out like he did most sessions as Dr. Naran reclined in her seat. His attention to soul marks was odd, to say the least. He'd never expressed an interest to them before and never actively hid his from the world like a good number chose to do. Then again, it was winter, and she'd only ever seen him wear long sleeved shirts or hoodies or jackets that he never rolled up.

He turned his head to look out the window.

"When I was fifteen, I met Nivek. He was in my biology class, had the hair the color of wet beaches, and never could shoot a crumpled up piece of paper into the trash can from his seat," he spoke suddenly. He didn't look at his therapist. "I fell in love with him during a winter like this. One night, we sat at the edge of a skating rink and laughed at all the people who slipped. I woke up the next morning with a white tally mark."

His eyes seeped in melancholy.

"I went to his wedding last year," he murmured. Dr. Naran blinked rapidly and sat up straight, the notebook almost falling off her lap.

"You didn't... you didn't tell him?"

"You can't make people fall in love with you, soulmate or not. But with me... Seona's not worried about Nivek. Not anymore, anyway. She was worried once she found out what happened after that."

Amias held out his arm, palm facing Dr. Naran, and pulled his sleeve up to his elbow. She could barely restrain a gasp.

The first tally was white. The next was black.

The following ten or so were somber shades of purple from aubergine to some few on their way to a thulian pink— like veins that seeped up from his skin and mocked a love he couldn't have.

"I... I'm so sorry, Amias," was the only thing she could muster as she stared at his wrist. He shrugged and set his arm down on his armrest. His kind smile was back on his face, but looking at him under a new light, she could see the touch of sadness and defeat brushed against his lips.

"You don't have to be. I've gotten used to it? I don't know. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to."

He was lying. Had he been telling the truth, the bags under his eyes wouldn't have been more visible and he wouldn't have held his wrist like it was the only thread holding him together. Dr. Naran observed the way he gazed at the clock on the wall as his eyes glinted slightly at the time.

"Our hour's up," he mentioned. Amias pulled down his sleeve and stood. "I'll see you next week, Doctor."

He moved away and her calm, rich voice trailed after him like little ducklings in the snow.

"Take care of yourself, Amias. I'll be looking forward to our session next Thursday."