The Secret Life of My Husband, The Professor ✔️

12| Memories I forgot

Wahaj's POV

I returned back to the clinic as I was faced with Dr.Romero, who told me to take a seat inside the room as always. I went in and sat in the large brown leather couch.

A few minutes later, Professor Ibrahim Yilmaz took a seat next to me. His chestnut hair was sticking up in every direction as he pushed and pulled at it. Under his left eye sat a faded purple bruise that I just noticed.

I moved a couple of inches away from him as I sat on the opposite side of the couch. He didn't say anything about it as silence filled the room. When he first entered there was a stunned expression on his face, but he quickly masked it and sat down.

Why was Prof. Yilmaz in the room ? Was Dr Romero going to tell him about my dream... my eyes widening in horror. What had I done? Why did I tell her ? she wouldn't, would she?

I entered the room at 3:30, and it was now 3:34. The past four minutes had felt like hours, not just for me, I think. We both sat, quietly, not saying a word to the other, waiting for what was about to happen. As the door was suddenly thrown open, both our heads sprang up and to the right.

The women entering the room gave us a polite smile as she walked to the chair across from where we were sitting.

"Good afternoon," She said in a soft, kind voice.

Neither Professor nor I said anything in return.

"I know you must be shocked about being in a joint therapy session," She continued. "But I think it will be beneficial for both of you," She ended her speech.

Was Professor. Yilmaz having dreams about me too? Just the idea of this made my face flash red. He wouldn't, of course he wouldn't...

"So Mrs Muhammad, we will start with you ?" She said.

"Ms," Professor. Yilmaz whispered under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Dr Romero asked.

Professor Yilmaz looked up at her momentarily then lowered his head back down to his hands. "She is a widow," Professor Yilmaz muttered again as I shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Dr Romero didn't look anything like our dean,her mother. She was relatively tiny, maybe 5 feet 6 inches, and slim. Long, straight, and coffee-coloured hair that fell below her arms and big black eyes. She certainly didn't look older than forty. Her office was pale beige with brown furnishings. The walls were bare, and the only item sitting atop the coffee table between her chair and the Professor and mine was a Kleenex box and two glasses of water.

"So let's get started, shall we? How did you two end up in the same car?" She asked. Her voice was soft and monotonous, and when she was once again met with silence, she cleared her throat and tried again.

"Alright. I'm going, to be frank with the two of you if that's alright."