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I was early. I was always early. Many people hated the idea of group therapy, comparing it to stripping yourself bare in front of an audience. A spectacle for everybody to see every flaw, every scar. Too exposed. Too vulnerable. I, though, liked this day. Heck I looked forward to it. Every Thursday at six,Clotho arranges a group session with some of her patients in her sickly, too-limey and colourful office. I never complained about this arrangement—for my own reasons. Instead of feeling naked, I found myself looking for similar scars in others. Reflections in different lights and intensities. Similar to mine, but different in their own way. Instead of feeling exposed it makes me feel secure. Secure in the knowledge that someone out there wears a wound similar to her. Someone carrying different taints, just in different colours. And they all wore it differently. Treated it differently. Fought it differently.

Some show up as a whirlwind of rainbow—too bubbly, too cheerful—to hide the bone deep tiredness that took a toll on their bodies. Because they were afraid that if they weren’t smiling, that if they weren't welcoming enough, they would be left alone in this world. I was one of them. I didn't wanna be left out. I was lonely enough already. Lonely enough to wish for even ghosts as the company. That was one of the reasons I liked coming in here. Some weeks, these ninety minutes carried me through the other six days. Being surrounded by people helped, it always had. Even if the company consisted of strangers avoiding eye contact and a particularly judgemental chihuahua stuffed into an elderly woman's purse.

The ding of the elevator opening pulled me out of the staring contest I hadn't even realized I was having with the chihuahua stuffed inside the old lady's purse. I blinked several times. A white silhouette of the dog's skinny, triangular face lingered behind my eyelids. When I was sure the chihuahua's face wasn't permanently imprinted on my retina, I rubbed an eye with the heel of my hand and looked up. The elevator doors were already sliding shut before me. I moved quickly, wedging my hand between them before they could close completely, and squeezed out of the cramped space.The old lady, peering through spectacles perched far too low on her nose, fussed with the polka-dot scarf around her neck. She seemed far too occupied to notice her chihuahua was already halfway out of the purse. I adjusted the strap of my shoulder bag and stepped out of the elevator. The old lady was still fussing with the scarf, her attention nowhere near me. I glanced at her once, then down at the chihuahua. The dog was still staring. I stared back. It was a silent challenge, and apparently I had the maturity of a five-year-old because, once I was sure its owner wasn't looking, I stuck my tongue out at the skinny little menace.Apparently, the dog didn't appreciate being stared at. Or mocked. Especially not with such blatant displays of tongue. Because the last thing I saw was the skinny dog launching itself from the ridiculously shiny purple purse.The elevator doors closed before the dog's paws could hit the floor. I couldn't help the giggle that escaped me when I heard a muffled bark followed by a high feminine shriek.

The tap of my heels was absorbed by the carpet beneath my feet, the faint sound still carrying through the quiet hallway as I made my way toward Clotho's room. I had walked this hallway enough times to know exactly where the carpet dipped slightly beneath my heels, where the lights overhead flickered, and where the limey smell began to creep into the air. Two doors away, I could already smell it. By the time I reached the door, the scent was impossible to miss. “Everyone deserves something beautiful.” The words were written on a floral plate nailed to the ebony door. I had read them so many times that I didn't need to stop to read them anymore, but my eyes still lingered on them for a second before I reached for the round doorknob. I pushed with more force than it should require. The door resisted more than it should have, followed by a long groan and an awful screech from its apparently rusting hinges.I winced. “God, Clotho.” The cold blast of air conditioning hit me the moment I stepped inside, along with the same overpowering limey smell that seemed permanently etched into every corner of the room. It wasn't an unpleasant smell to say, exactly. Just…everywhere. So much so that I could always smell the traces of it clinging to my clothes when I toss them in the washer the next day. I let go of the door knob, waiting for the satisfying thud of the door closing behind me, that never came. I turned to glare at the door over my shoulder, which was still open by a ridiculously wide margin. An exasperated huff left me, I turned around and kicked the door with a not so gentle kick. “You need to fix this damn door, Clotho” I said facing the open space, where Clotho was arranging the chairs around the center table. “Well, Good evening to you too, Gwyneth” Clotho looked up for a split before returning to her task. “No, seriously speaking”, I walked over to the table, pulling the tie from my hair as I went. My ponytail had become too messy and too loose for its own good anyway.

“If your door is even a centimeter open in an air conditioned room, it pushes the air conditioner to require more power.” I ran a hand through my unbound hair, trying to make it look as presentable as I could using my fingers. Across the table, Clotho continued adjusting the chairs, nudging one a few inches to the left before moving on to the next. “More power equals more units.” My finger caught on a particularly stubborn knot. I winced at the sting on my scalp and tugged at it more carefully. “More units means bigger bills.” I finally freed the knot and dropped my brown shoulder bag onto the table, right in front of my designated—and not-so designated—seat, the one directly facing the window. “Next thing I know, you're going to start charging us more for every hour.” I didn’t actually care about the charges. I liked coming here. I wouldn’t mind if my therapist charged double, but she wasn’t going to admit that. God, not in this inflation. I tried to bite back my growing smile when I took in the doctor's amused expression, raised eyebrows and all. To her credit, Clotho only laughed, her voice soft and soothing, almost like a caress. “If it makes you feel better”—Clotho leaned over the table after arranging the very last chair—“I just moved ‘fix the door’ to the top of my priority list.” “As you should.” I finally let the smile take over my face.

“Why don’t you help yourself with a coffee, before our other friends arrive?” Clotho preferred the term friends because she considered the term patient dystopian. “Already bored of my company, I see” I tossed the remark over my shoulder as I made my way over to the coffee table arranged on the opposite side of the room. “Oh, sweet mother, Never.” I smiled to myself and took another step before my eyes caught on the figure already standing by the coffee table. Oh. I guess I wasn't the first one here. That tall figure was too hard to not notice in every session. That back was hard to miss. I had seen it enough times over the past month to recognize it almost instantly. Tall, broad shoulders, and that black leather jacket I had come to associate with him before I had even properly learned his name. Azriel. I continued walking toward the coffee table. I wasn’t really surprised that I didn’t notice his presence when I entered.

If I was a rainbow, then there were people like him, people like Azriel. Too solemn, too silent, dark as shadows. And somehow using the word shadow for Azriel never quite felt like a metaphor. For some reason, I always found him tucked into the darkest corner of this room—well, as dark as anything could get in Clotho's aggressively well-decorated office. I never knew whether the all-black attire was part of the dangerous persona he seemed to emit or if he was simply another emo kid who had never found his way out of the phase.

“Hey!” I stepped up beside him before looking up at his face. His posture relaxed as he pulled a stack of paper cups from the shelf. “Hi” Azriel gave me a curt nod, his voice smooth and deep like the ocean, before returning to his task. Which was normal. In the last month of group therapy, ever since Az had joined, one thing had become well known. Azriel wasn't much of a talker. And even when he did speak, his answers were usually short and straightforward enough to leave no room for further discussion. I never judged him for that. More words didn't necessarily mean a merrier person. I leaned my back against the coffee table, facing the door just as Vanessa walked in, her arms occupied with a hundred different things. To my amusement, she too had to kick the door shut behind her. “That door seriously needs some fixing.” I mumbled, waving in Vanessa’s direction. “Excuse me?” I turned my head. Azriel was peering down at me, eyes confused. I wasn't a short person by any standard. I was actually taller than average for a woman. But Azriel was a giant, hovering a good foot above me even with my heels on.

I blinked up at him. It took me a second to realize he had heard my nonsense and had probably assumed I was talking to him. “Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “I asked what you're doing.” I knew what he was doing. It was a lame question all on its own. I kept my eyes on Vanessa as she began putting down the knick-knacks she'd brought with her, but I could feel Azriel's gaze lingering on the side of my face. “Just making a pot.” “Do you need any help?” I offered, turning slightly toward him. My eyes caught on his profile for a second longer than they needed to. There was something unfair about the way his features came together—the strong line of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes.

That man was beautiful in a manner that cannot be described. Whoever got to wake up looking at that face first thing in the morning had to be the luckiest person alive. “No, I’m done.” The same rich voice pulled my attention back. Azriel turned toward me, two cups in his hands. He silently held one out to me while taking a sip from the other. “Oh, oh.” I was caught a little off guard before tentatively reaching out to take the cup from his hand. “Thank you. You didn’t have to bother.”I wrapped my fingers around the cup, fingers brushing his without meaning to. “I wasn’t bothered in a slightest.” He said finally releasing the cup. I leaned over the table where sugar was kept. “I usually take mine with—” I reached for a sugar cube. “Four sugar.” “Excuse me?” I dropped the sugar back in the jar and looked him over my shoulder, hand still stretched over the table. “Four sugar. Already in that coffee.” He motioned toward my cup before sipping from his own, his other hand tucked carelessly into his pocket. I tried to form some words, but my lips had already rounded into a small, involuntary O. I blinked at him, the realization catching up a second later. “Huh.” I couldn't decide whether that was impressive or slightly concerning. “Why, thank you. But I also like some,— I moved my outstretched hand slightly to the left toward the creamer bottle. “Creamer. Also in there.” That finally made me look down at my cup. Sure enough, a faint white streak of creamer swirled through the coffee. I still didn't know what to make of the fact that Azriel knew exactly how I took my coffee. Should I be creeped out? Or amazed? At the moment though, I was leaning toward being amazed.

“How do you know all these?” I faced him, amusement written all over my face. “I like to..” Azriel searched for the word for a second “…observe things.” He nodded more to himself than to me. “Things like, how do I take my coffee?” I raised my brows at him, still not buying his reasoning. “It would be one of them.” He shrugged, looking down at me as I lifted my cup to my nose and breathed in the familiar scent. I took a sip of my own, looking at Azriel over the rim of the cup. The taste of hot, creamy, sweet coffee hit my tongue instantly. “mmm, just how I like it!” I couldn’t help but beam at him. Azriel only tilted his head, the movement carrying a silent told ya so. After that we drank our coffee in silence. And somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe that was what surprised me most. Azriel finished his cup first, but made no move to leave. He simply stayed where he was, one hand still tucked carelessly into his pocket, the empty cup resting loosely in the other. I wasn't the one to dismiss him, so I didn't say anything either. I focused on my coffee, occasionally sneaking a glance in his direction.

His eyes, however, seemed determined to look everywhere but at me. Maybe that was his only sign of awkwardness. Or maybe he really was just observing, like he said. With Azriel, you could never tell. I finally tossed my empty cup into the bin. “Shall we?” I offered, coming to the conclusion that he had been waiting for me to finish my coffee. Azriel motioned toward the room with one hand, a quiet, almost absent gesture—but I took it as his version of after you, softened by something unspoken between us. As I passed him, I gave his arm a light, brief pat—more instinct than intention, and let my steps carry me toward the center of the room. “You’re a gentleman, Azriel,” I tossed over my shoulder, letting a hint of teasing slip into my voice, as if I wasn’t entirely sure whether I meant it as praise or accusation. I turned before I could see his reaction, suddenly too aware of what I might find there.

That very unusual yet somehow normal encounter had me smiling as I smoothed the fabric of my dress and settled into my chair. Azriel took his seat to my right, where he always sat. Everyone had arrived by then, and I was surprised I had missed their arrival. The groaning sound of Clotho’s door was practically as good as a set of welcoming bells. There were seven of us, including Clotho. Everyone had joined at different points over the past couple of months. All with different past. Different stories. Different coping mechanisms. I had started getting comfortable with them. Comfortable enough to look forward to their company, even if I didn't always have much to offer of my own. Maybe that was enough for now. I wanted to take advantage of it for as long as it lasted. “We have someone special joining us today.” The chatter around the room quieted as Clotho’s voice pulled everyone's attention toward her. “We will wait five more minutes, and then we will proceed.” Clotho turned her attention back to her plants, tending to them with the same patient care she gave all her ‘friends.’ The chatter began again a second later. I opened my bag and dug out the thing I had been looking for before turning toward Vanessa, who was violently crocheting the hell out of a yarn ball. Vanessa was a woman in her thirties, far too enthusiastic and loud. People might think otherwise when meeting her for the first time. The permanent frown etched across her beautiful face certainly didn't help, but I knew it was a years-old outcome of crocheting. Still, she was the warmest person I had ever known. Gwyn loved that about her. Vanessa’s rainbow might have been more vibrant than mine—though I was well aware that rainbows were formed only after it had rained in one’s life. Isn’t that why we were all here?

“V,” I poked at Vanessa’s shoulder. The rapid movement of her twisting fingers halted, and she looked up at me, the familiar frown still etched across her face. I discretely slid the book that I brought with me over Vanessa’s side, keeping the cover facedown as I nudged it toward with one finger. “Just as I promised.” I whispered. Vanessa's eyes dropped to the book, and the widening of her eyes and the gasp that left her was my reward enough. It was a newly published erotica by Sellyn Drake. Me and Vanessa both are huge fans of this author’s work. Over the months we had been trading the book between us. I had been waiting for this one ever since it came out. I finished it last week, and loved it so much that I was awake all night. Vanessa squealed, a little too delightful. The crochet hook was already abandoned in her lap. Vanessa, to her dismay of being secretive, picked the book at a lightning speed and turned it over to the front cover. The cover showcasing a little too spicy and suggestive scenario, too inappropriate to be laid out this openly in this room. But if Vanessa cared, then sure as hell she wasn’t trying to hide it.

“Oh my god, this looks so hot.” Vanessa said it too loudly to making me cringe. A few curious eyes looked in our direction. I could feel Azriel being one of them. “You could have said it a little louder, you know?” I hissed. But my words fell on deaf ears. Vanessa was already reading the synopsis, her eyes practically glowing. “I am going to enjoy this.” She looked at me with such open mouthed delight, the frown had vanished. I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, the previous outburst all but forgotten. “I know you will. I loved it.” “Tell me something about it.” Vanessa quickly slipped the book into her purse, thankfully deciding that discussing it was safer than displaying it. “I will not spoil too much, but….” I glanced around, checking for any prying eyes or ears before leaning closer. “There is this one scene where they play with ribbons.” I wiggled my brows. Vanessa's eyes twinkled wickedly, “oh, tell me more.” I wet my lips unconsciously, recalling the scene. “The Guy blindfolds the girl with a ribbon first.” Vanessa gasped, far too delighted. “And then he decorates her naked body with the ribbon. Tie her up and wrap her in it like a present.” Vanessa giggled “And, then?”

A blush was creeping on my cheeks just by talking about it. I had tried to imagine what it would feel like, if I would love it? I paused a bit for that dramatic, suspenseful effect that had Vanessa impatient. “And then, they fucked.” “Hard.” I kept adding things with an unusual amount of glee. “All night.” A pointed harrumph came from my right. I froze instantly at the pointed interruption. Azriel. I straightened slowly, and turned to my right. I offered him a sheepish smile, my blush now for entirely different reasons. He was adjusting himself in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. Squeamish? Uncomfortable? I couldn't tell. Maybe uncomfortable. Because a second later, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his Rubik's cube. Cubie. I'd named it that in my head weeks ago.

Soon he began scrambling it with practiced fingers, as he always does. His attention seemingly fixed on the little coloured squares now. Clotho doesn’t prohibit the activity. She believes that sometimes when your mind is occupied somewhere else—too engrossed in that activity. Those are the times when your emotions are easy to set free, easy to speak up your mind without being cautious about your surroundings. That’s why Vanessa crocheted. Why Azriel played with cubie. They are all mindful about it though. They listen to others, and stop the activity altogether when the moment requires it.

The groaning of the door opening saved me from any uncomfortable explanation. I tore my eyes away from Azriel’s skilful fingers working on the cube. A boy, probably in her late teens, stepped into the room. His tanned skin was slightly peppered with acne scars, head full of unruly curls. He stopped just inside the doorway, looking around the table as all of us turned to look at him. The nervousness was almost tangible in the way his shoulders stiffened beneath our attention. Even Azriel had turned in his seat, one elbow resting against the back of his chair as he craned his head toward the door. Our eyes met for a fleeting second. Picking up the now-solved cube from the table. He scrambled it back into imperfection, though his eyes remained on the newcomer.

Clotho approached the boy with open arms and a smile bright enough to soften the tension in his shoulder. “We have been waiting for you. Why don’t you come here?” Clotho held the boy by his arms. She had to crane her neck to look up at the boy. “I am so happy that you came.” The pair walked toward the center. The boy seemed less nervous in Clotho’s company, Just like everybody else did. We don’t start with Group therapy right away. I knew for the fact that everybody at this table had spent a few months seeing Clotho one to one prior to joining this table. I remember the three months I spent with her before she invited me to join the table.

“Everybody meet Noah. Noah meet, everybody.” Clotho said as she settled Noah in the chair beside her. A few greetings and tentative waves passed in Noah’s direction. He just stared ahead. His shoulders were stiff, hands clasped tightly together in his lap. He looked like he was trying very hard to make himself as small as possible beneath all those unfamiliar eyes. I knew that feeling. Opening up to one person was hard enough. Sitting before a room full of strangers and being expected to speak about yourself? That was a whole other degree of stripping bare. “Why don’t you guys introduce yourselves.” The therapist suggested, her voice bright and encouraging. Drew went first, sitting beside Noah, he stretched out his fist toward him. “I’m Drew. Nice to have you here, Noah.” Noah hesitated for a second before bumping his fist against Drew’s. Slowly one by one, everyone introduced themselves. Chloe, Naveah, Bob. Then Vanessa and finally it was my turn.

“Hi Noah.” I offered him my most genuine smile. “I am Gwyneth Berdara. But please, just call me Gwyn.” I purposefully glanced at Clotho—who still insisted on calling me by my full name. “I am glad to have you here.” Noah for his sake was warming up to the environment and offered me a small smile in return. The circle came to an end with Azriel. To my surprise, he gave Noah the faintest flicker of a smile. “Azriel.” Just that. In his smooth voice that makes me want to shiver, that has nothing to do with the cold air-conditioning. Just Azriel. Nothing else. I couldn't help watching him. That ever so rare smile—if you even consider the tilt of the lips a smile, was more than what he’d given anyone in this room. I wanted to see that smile again. What would it take to make him smile like that? Better yet, what would it feel like to be the reason for it? I didn’t realize I was staring at him until his hazel eyes were looking right back at me, one brow raised. His head tilted in a way that caught the light against his small piercing—making it shine. I quickly shook my head and turned my attention back to Clotho, who clapped her hands together before beginning.

“Alright everybody. I am glad that you all made it on time for this session. I am thankful for your presence that helps everyone in more ways than you realize.” Many heads in the room bobbed in agreement. “Let’s start with, ‘what brings you here?’ shall we?” “Noah, would you mind going first?” Clotho placed a supportive hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Just be honest. You can always stay quiet if you like, but try to be responsive. Sometimes you help people by sharing, and sometimes you help them by being a good listener.” I know how true that sentence stood. “Just make sure you play both parts. Clotho gave Noah's shoulder one last reassuring pat before letting go. “I—I..” Noah looked around the table, his fingers knotting together on the tabletop. “I came here because you invited me.” He looked at Clotho helplessly, to which she just laughed, eyes crinkling at the corner. “Yess, sure I did.” If Clotho wanted another answer, she didn’t press him for one. The answer came in from everyone after that. Someone came to share some memories. Some to share something that had happened to them. Someone came because they had felt helpless and needed answers, guidance, or someone who would simply listen.

Me? I came because I didn't want to fall back into old habits. Because I didn't want to start spiraling again. Because being alone with my thoughts for too long had never ended well. I didn't say any of that. Not today. Not in that way, at least. “I came here because I like it here,” I said instead. “I love being surrounded by people who understand parts of me. And I hope I can help in some way.” It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. I liked being here. I liked listening to people talk. I liked recognizing little pieces of myself in them—the ways they laughed too loudly, the things they did with their hands when they were nervous, the stories they told without realizing how much they were revealing. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one carrying something. Maybe that was enough for now. Maybe I could keep borrowing pieces of other people's courage until I found enough of my own. So that I wouldn't go back to isolating myself.

“My friends, they… insisted.” Azriel said it without making eye contact with anyone in particular. His hands, however, never stopped moving beneath the table. I could hear the faint shuffle and rotation of the cube as his fingers worked. I had a feeling that insisted wasn't quite the word. But then again, I hadn't exactly given the group the whole truth either. “Ah, Rhys. I believe that's what his name is?” Clotho said, more conversationally than anything. Azriel gave a curt nod. “One of them.” His fingers kept moving over the cube in his lap. The conversation moved from one to another naturally, the voice drifting around me, for some reason m y eyes focused on the cube being made to perfection. friends. I wondered what it would be like to have a friend who cared enough to insist. I had friends once. Good friends. But after that incident, I had drowned so thoroughly in my own melancholy that I barely noticed when I started pulling away from them. Maybe they had tried to reach me. Maybe I had simply drifted too far for them to follow. And even if they had stayed, would I have let them? I didn't know. I didn't blame them for leaving. Hell, there had been days when I couldn't stand being around myself. Why would anyone else have wanted to?

I blinked quickly, pushing away the sudden sting behind my eyes. Not here. I swallowed and forced my attention back to the room. This was supposed to be the place where I was honest. And somehow, I was still doing what I always did. Watching. Listening. Finding little pieces of myself in everyone else's stories. Rotate. I knew their wounds. Their habits. The things they did when they were nervous, uncomfortable, or trying not to cry. Shuffle. I could recognize their pain because it looked enough like mine. But mine? I kept that one tucked away. Twist. The realization sat strangely in my chest. Maybe that was why I liked coming here so much. I didn't have to be the one falling apart. Someone else could put their feelings into words, and I could sit beside them and think, I know that feeling. I could let their stories say the things I couldn't. And for ninety minutes every Thursday, I didn't have to strip myself bare and wonder who would still be there afterward. A sharp click broke through my thoughts.

Azriel's fingers had stopped. The Rubik's cube sat perfectly solved in his hands. I blinked and tore my eyes away from the cube. His eyes were already on me. In my zoned out state, I hadn't even noticed him watching. I gave him a small, apologetic smile, hoping that he wouldn't find me some weird person who looked like she might cry over a cube being solved. If He thought such things, then he said nothing. Neither did I. I focused on the window instead, pretending to watch the lights glowing in the buildings across the street. But I could still feel his gaze resting on the side of my face for another second before it finally disappeared.

Various conversations happened after that. Noah, as predicted, didn't say much, but he tried. It was usual for a first meeting and everyone assured him of that. I participated in as much as I could, partly to keep myself from drifting back into that uncomfortable little spiral. “I befriended a chihuahua today.” My nod was a little too eager for someone who was clearly bluffing. We were now discussing ‘the highlight of your day or week’. And I was sticking to my version of events. The chihuahua jumped merely because he wanted to play. Obviously. He must have sensed the amazing, friendly energy that I emitted. Surely it hadn't been trying to bite me. That was the version I was choosing to believe. “I’m sure he must have enjoyed your company Gwyneth.” “Totally.” Vanessa mumbled something about preferring cats, followed by a comparison between chihuahuas and some creature I didn't quite catch. “Azriel, would you like to share anything special that has happened to you?” I played with the thread on my dress which was coming undone. winding it around my index finger, coiling and uncoiling. “I visited my mother.” The thread stilled between my fingers. I blinked up at him. There was something in Azriel’s voice that I couldn’t quite place. It might be the first time he has ever mentioned his mom. “Would you like to elaborate?” Clotho said in a gentle voice, urging in a manner only a therapist who knew there was something beneath the surface would. “No.” And just like that, his fingers started moving, twisting and turning the little squares back into place. Sometimes I wondered how many times he solved and scrambled that thing in ninety minutes.

The meeting was coming to an end, quickly. It had progressed pretty normally. Noah had warmed up seemingly more, Chloe had only cried once, and Vanessa finished her knots in a record time. Clotho, as always, had been there through it all. Gently testing buttons and thoughts, nudging at the right places whenever she thought someone might be ready to pry something open. She never pushed too hard. Not unless she had to. From my right came the familiar shuffle and twist of plastic, accompanied every now and then by a colourful string of curses from Vanessa. “Okay, friends. I think it’s about time we wrap this session up.” Clotho pushed her chair back and rose, resting both palms against the table as she leaned slightly into the circle. “Not before—” Her eyes landed on Noah, who had already started shifting in his chair as if preparing to leave. He froze halfway between standing and sitting, caught in an awkward half-rise as if he wasn’t sure what to do. The regulars knew better. There was still one more thing to do. A little ritual Clotho had somehow made part of every session. “Before we leave,” she continued, her voice gentling as she reached over and lightly gestured for Noah to settle back down. “Let’s talk about what you’re looking forward to this week.” Noah hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered himself back into his chair. A quiet chuckle escaped me at his expression.

“It could be anything,” Clotho added. “A movie you've been wanting to watch. Dinner with family. A vacation. A visit from someone.” Her gaze travelled around the circle before settling on Drew. “Drew, let’s start with you.” Drew immediately launched into a passionate explanation about a game that was supposed to launch the following week. The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss. “Chloe?” “My sourdough starter is finally ready,” Chloe said, practically bouncing in her seat as she clasped her hands together, “which means more fresh bread for me to bake.” Chloe always brought bread for everyone whenever she baked. She wasn't the best baker around. I still had an inkling that the thud I'd once heard from my kitchen had come from a loaf hitting the floor and not my cat. I had never gotten to taste that particular loaf anyway. I'd forgotten about it for a few days, and by the time I remembered, it had already grown mold. The low mumble from Vanessa that sounded far too much like a fresh bomb only confirmed my suspicions.

“I’m going on a date.” I added happily. For a second, the familiar shuffle of plastic stopped. I glanced to my right. Azriel’s fingers had stilled around the cube. His thumb rested against one of the squares, unmoving. His attention seemingly caught somewhere between the pieces. “Really?” Vanessa to her delight squealed loudly, before wrapping me in a side hug that I had totally seen coming. I couldn’t stop the laugh that left me, at her enthusiasm, “yes”. “Who?” “Vincent.” I pulled away from Vanessa enough to breathe. “He asked me out when we were leaving work.” Vincent was a decent guy. Newly joined, extroverted, and good-looking in that boyish sort of way. We shared the same floor at the publishing house where I worked. I wasn't really looking for anything. Some days, handling my own emotions was hard enough. Explaining them to someone else felt like an entirely different kind of struggle, a struggle I wasn’t sure I wanted, yet.

But it was just one date. One date to see if I wanted to do this again. It had been years since I'd gone on one. For a while,there was a point when it had felt pointless. I hadn't had the courage for it. Not when being happy sometimes felt like something I had no right to reach for when Catrin could never feel those things again. The thought pricked somewhere behind my ribs. I let it pass before it twisted more deeply. Letting it flow in the void somewhere in my mind. Because holding on to it makes it harder to breathe sometimes. “I’m happy that you’re trying new things again, Gwyneth.” Clotho's smile was earnest and encouraging. We'd talked about this before. She knew this was a progress, and so did I. “Thank you.” I gave her an acknowledging nod in return. Beside me, Azriel's fingers still didn’t move. I turned my attention to Vanessa, who was already asking another question about Vincent. I answered her, but before she could follow up, a familiar voice came from my right.

“I have dinner with my friends,” Azriel said after a moment. “I’m really looking forward to it.” I smiled faintly. “Sounds nice.” His fingers didn't return to the cube. Instead, he slipped the unsolved thing into the inner pocket of his jacket and patted the lapel once, making sure it was secure. I met his gaze. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at me. Unblinking, unreadable. No smile, no particular emotion that I could make sense of. I offered him a smile anyway. Before I could wonder whether he was going to say anything else, Clotho drew our attention back to the centre of the table and wrapped up the session with the usual few words before goodbye. The room seemed to exhale with her. Chairs scraped softly against the carpet as everyone began gathering their things. The quiet circle we'd occupied for the last ninety minutes slowly dissolved into the familiar chaos of bags being zipped, cups being thrown away and coats being shrugged on.

Vanessa, as usual, managed to make the most noise. She gathered her crochet supplies with little regard for how many things she knocked against the table, all while reminding me that I was required to give her every single update about my date. “And I expect juicy details,” she warned, pointing a crochet hook at me. I laughed. “There won't be any juicy details.” “You don't know that yet.” “I know enough.” She narrowed her eyes at me as if she didn't believe a word, then finally slung her bag over her shoulder. “Fine. But I'm still getting the updates.” “And I'm still getting updates about the book.” “Obviously.” She waved at me before heading for the door, already halfway through telling me what she planned to read next. I watched her go. One by one, the others followed. The room grew quieter with every person who left, until only a few footsteps and the faint hum of the air conditioner remained.

It was just me, Clotho and Azriel at last. The room had emptied slowly, but Azriel was still there. He had picked up the last chair and was carrying it toward the corner with the others, the wooden legs making a soft scrape against the carpet. He fitted it neatly into place before reaching for another. I have noticed that a few times now. Somehow, Azriel always seemed to be among the last to leave. Clotho never seemed bothered by it. If anything, she had once called him such a nice boy while fussing over him for stacking the chairs. I shouldered my bag and glanced toward him once more. He was already reaching for the next chair. Clotho, meanwhile, had moved on to her next task, neatly arranging the documents into a file organizer.

“Hey” My therapist stopped what she was doing and turned. “How can I help you, my lovely girl?” There was a genuineness in the fondness of her voice that made me hesitate. I didn't answer right away. My hands had already found the bundle of sticky notes on the table, flipping through the little stack without any real purpose. “I think…” I paused, turning another page. “I think I would like a one-on-one with you someday.” I absently riffled through the stack of sticky notes, letting the little pages flutter rapidly before they settled back into place. I wasn't entirely sure why I had asked. Maybe because I've been feeling happy lately. And happiness had started to feel like a warning. Happy means you are unprepared for the change. Happy means temporary. “Sure hon, why not?” Clotho smiled. “Just let me know a day before whenever you feel like meeting me.” Her hand rested on my arms. The slow, absentminded caress of her thumb against my skin caught me off guard. For a second, I thought of my mother. Then about the two women who were no longer part of my life. I swallowed down the memories. The memories pressed close, warm and painful in a way I didn't have the courage to examine. So I did what I had become good at. I folded them away. Not gone. Just somewhere else, somewhere else where I can return in quite.

I instantly stepped back a little, causing Clotho’s hand to drop to her side. “Okay.” I nodded, my hair shifting with the movement. I mumbled by farewell, suddenly aware that I had nothing more to say, and turned toward the door. “And Gwyneth.” I hummed in question, fingers still hovering over the notepad. “You also deserve something beautiful.” Pinching the corner of the sticky notes, I let the edge of the paper press against my fingertips, smooth and slightly rough at the same time. “You deserve to be happy for your part.” I ripped away one of the pages from notes. It was time to leave.

“Bye clotho, take care.” I fisted the small square in my palm, not bothering to look the therapist in the eyes. Only then did I notice Azriel still standing near the other side of the room.He hadn't moved while I was talking to Clotho. He had simply waited, keeping a respectful distance from our conversation. The scrape of a chair against the carpet made me glance over my shoulder. Azriel had moved from where he had been standing and was now walking toward the chair Clotho had been sitting in. He picked it up and carried it toward the corner, the same quiet efficiency with which he always seemed to do things. Guilt pricked at me. I had made him wait. I glanced at Clotho, who was already back to sorting through her papers as if there was nothing unusual about any of this. I could have left. But leaving while he was still waiting felt rude, especially when he had been kind enough to wait through my conversation. So I lingered by the door. Eyes naturally drifting out of the window, as they always do. The city was already swallowed by night. The buildings across the street were dotted with scattered lights—some white, some shade warm yellow, some completely dark.

Behind me, Clotho and Azriel spoke in a low voice. Of course, Clotho did most of the talking. I didn’t pry as I watched another light flicker across the building. After a couple of minutes, I heard the soft shift of movement. Azriel was giving Clotho a small nod as he stepped away from her. He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket moving in the door—my direction. His eyes catching mine as they swept through the space.. For a fleeting second, his expression shifted—something like surprise passing through them, before settling back into its usual calm. I straightened from where I had been leaning against the wall, suddenly aware of how suspiciously much I looked like I had been waiting for him. My fingers tightened around the crumpled sticky note in my palm, and I glanced down at it as though it had been keeping me occupied all this time. His gaze stayed on me as he crossed the room, lingering on me in that quiet, assessing way of his, as if confirming I was truly waiting there for no reason other than him.

I shifted from the path directly blocking the exit when he stopped in front of me. “I wasn’t waiting for you,” I said, glancing down at the sticky note in my hand. “I was simply giving the paper some quality company.” I let the corner of my mouth twitch, making it obvious enough that I was teasing. There was no point pretending otherwise; I’d been waiting for him, and we both knew it. “I know.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh.” I nodded, perfectly satisfied. “Good. Because it would be terribly awkward if you thought I was waiting for you.” His eyes flicked toward the door. I followed his gaze. “Right. Shall we?” His hand reached the doorknob first. The latch clicked softly as he pulled it open, followed by the familiar groan of the hinges. Noisy ass door. Azriel stepped aside, holding it for me. I smiled, “Such a gentleman.” His eyes flicked at me, “I try.” He sure does, I thought as I slipped past him, my smile growing despite myself.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. I just felt like I should say something, though I had no idea what, so I let the silence stay. We walked a few doors down together, our footsteps falling softly against the carpet. Azriel kept an easy pace beside me, neither rushing ahead nor lagging behind. Every now and then, my shoulder brushed against the sleeve of his leather jacket. Each time, I pretended not to notice. I stole a couple of glances at him from the corner of my eye, careful enough to admire his side profile as discreetly as I could. Once, his gaze shifted and mine before I could look away. My steps didn't falter, though I found myself holding his gaze for a heartbeat longer than I meant to before looking ahead again. The corridor was brightly lit, every overhead light doing its best to expose the not-so-clean carpet beneath our feet. The limey scent from Clotho’s office still clung faintly to the air, stubborn enough to follow us several doors down. It wasn't until we reached the elevator that I finally breathed in deeply, drawing in a lungful of air that didn't taste like lime. You don't really realize how used to a smell you've become until you finally get away from it.

The shiny elevator door stood close in front of us. I pressed the button and watched as the little indicator light up. The screen above the door display changed the number as it descended slowly. Beside me, Azriel stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. One foot tapped idly against the carpet, the only movement in him besides the occasional shift of his gaze as he seemed to observe the otherwise empty hallway. Maybe it was the easy rhythm of his footsteps beside mine, or the way he seemed completely at ease in the quiet hallway. Whatever it was, I hadn't once felt the need to put more distance between us. If it had been some other man standing beside me in an empty hallway at night, I would've already been considering the stairs, pepper spray at the ready. Yet here I was, standing beside one of the most intimidating men I'd ever met, waiting for an elevator without a second thought. It was ironic, really. Somehow, Azriel made an empty hallway feel less empty.

The Holy Spirit might have been playing some trick on her. The elevator gave a soft ding, and the doors began to slide apart. I took a step forward, already reaching for the opening, when something caught my eye. A familiar purple. Slowly, my gaze travelled upward. The ridiculously shiny purple purse. The old lady. And, peeking out from the purse with those same skinny triangular ears and beady little eyes— Holy dog. I blinked once. Twice. No hallucination. The chihuahua was still there. And judging by the way it bared its tiny teeth at me, it remembered me too. The sharp bark that followed seemed suspiciously directed in my direction. Azriel had already stepped forward, one hand stretched between the doors to keep them from closing. He looked back at me, then at the elevator, apparently waiting for me to go in first. Screw his gentlemanliness.

I wasn't afraid of dogs. Generally. But that particular chihuahua was making a very convincing argument for why I should start reconsidering that stance. I looked up at Azriel, hoping my sweetest smile might communicate please save me from the tiny demon. His only response was a raised brow. He wasn't moving. Oh, he wasn't going to understand. I blew out a defeated breath, sending a few strands of hair fluttering around my face, before finally stepping inside. Azriel followed close behind, and somehow managed to take the exact spot I'd been eyeing—the one furthest away from the woman and her purple purse. Traitor. I ended up standing a step in front of the woman instead, with barely enough space between us to pretend I had any personal boundaries left. The chihuahua barked again. And again. I stared determinedly at the elevator doors. I am going to pretend that the dog is not there. Seems like a plan. I pressed the close button, but I got impatient when it didn’t close in the next millisecond. I pressed it again. Once. Twice. Three times. Possibly more than was strictly necessary. If Azriel was judging me, he had the good sense not to show it.

The doors finally closed with a soft ding, and almost immediately, the chihuahua started acting up. It rose onto its front paws inside the purse, its little head angled directly toward me. I cringed as it began wriggling so violently that even the old lady had to tighten her hold on the bag. Absolutely not. My fingers found the sleeve of Azriel’s jacket before I could think better of it. The leather was cold beneath my fingertips, chilled from the air-conditioned room. I gave it the smallest tug. Nothing. Another, slightly firmer pull. Azriel shifted a fraction to the side. That’s right. I followed. Another inch. Another tug. And, little by little, I maneuvered him into the space between me and the purse, quietly putting an entire Azriel between myself and the tiny creature that apparently had a personal vendetta against me. Azriel could have moved away. He could have asked what the hell I was doing. He did neither. He simply let me arrange him like some very tall, very unwilling piece of furniture. In different space and time I would have snorted at that thought alone, but this simply wasn’t the place. Once he was sufficiently between the chihuahua and me, I released his sleeve. Perfect. Better.

If Azriel noticed his sudden displacement, he didn't say anything. He seemed completely unbothered by the tiny dog still barking from behind him. The old lady, on the other hand, had started murmuring to her little menace, trying to settle him down as he continued wriggling against the purse. I almost felt bad for her. She looked as though she was beginning to question where she had gone wrong as a dog owner. The elevator seemed to be taking an unreasonable amount of time. I stole a glance around Azriel’s arm. The chihuahua was craning its entire body in my direction now, stretching so far out of the purse that I genuinely thought it might launch itself at me. I immediately looked away. With a quiet sigh, I swept my loose hair over one shoulder and let it fall like a curtain between my face and the creature. If I couldn't see it, it couldn't see me.

The elevator doors finally slid open, and I wasted no time getting out. Azriel followed close behind, with the old lady trailing after him, her purple purse still wriggling dangerously against her side. The three of us spilled out onto the sidewalk, leaving the building’s fluorescent warmth behind. Traffic hummed along the road, headlights sweeping past as people moved along the pavement around us. I slowed my steps, finally allowing myself to breathe, now that the elevator was behind me. The old lady continued ahead, adjusting the purse against her hip as she headed toward the corner. I kept my eyes carefully trained away from them. I tried,Mostly. I glanced back one last time, as the lady started turning the corner. I could swear I saw the chihuahua looking at me with his tongue out. I narrowed my eyes at him in return, you couldn’t scare me, I tried to convey. The lady turned the corner taking the creature and his judgemental little face with her. I heaved a sigh of relief at their disappearance.

“Befriended a Chihuahua. Now, did we?” Azriel’s smooth voice brought me back to reality. I turned toward him and caught it—a slight tilt at the corner of his mouth, his eyes holding a surprising amount of amusement. I pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Oh, that was all you and your all-black fashion.” I tried to keep my voice as believable as possible, but I was sure the goofy smile stretching across my face ruined the attempt. “You sure?” He motioned toward the corner where the lady had disappeared. “Because I’m pretty sure that dog stuck his tongue out at you.” I actually pinched his arm this time, “Oh, shut up!” The laugh that left Azriel was low and warm, rough around the edges in a way his usual smooth voice wasn't. It caught me off guard, sending a strange little warmth through my chest that had nothing to do with the evening air. And then I was laughing too. I looked at him, taking in the brightness that had crept into his eyes. The streetlights caught the hazel in his eyes, making them look warmer than they had beneath Clotho's fluorescent lights. and the smile grazing his lips, however small, but real. Maybe therapy really did work. Because the man standing beside me felt nothing like the one who sat silently in Clotho’s circle.

We stood there for a few seconds, as if to absorb the happy moment, as if neither of us was quite ready to let the moment end. The honking of cars, the rush of traffic and the distant chatter of people filled the space between us. For once, I didn't feel the need to fill it with words. I simply stood there, enjoying the warmth of his laughter and the company beside me. Eventually, the amusement faded into something quieter, and the silence began to stretch just enough to feel awkward. I moved first. One step backward. Then another, putting a little distance between us as I hitched my shoulder bag higher. “See you next week, Azriel.” He gave me a small nod. And just like that, Azriel was back. I smiled to myself before turning around, my steps carrying me toward my apartment. Somehow, my body felt lighter than it had when I'd walked into that building. I made it halfway down the sidewalk before I caught myself smiling again. I kept walking, the warmth of his laughter still lingering somewhere beneath my ribs. I could feel the weight of eyes on my back all the way down the sidewalk, following me until I finally rounded the corner.

A/N : Sooooooo........do you want more of this set up? Orignally I had only planned two chapters for this 'group therapy" fic. And then I was going to move to another one shot/two shot set up!! Even though I have no idea how can I grow this story, but I am seeing heavy potential, if I try and commit seriously. I could use some suggestions/demands from you readers! It would help me deeply to form a story.

I live on comments!! So please comment if you can. P.S: I have never been to group therapy or any therapy to be honest. Eventhough I have kept the therapy part minimal. But if i have missed prtrayed it in anyway, then I am really sorry. You can guide me on it, I would love to improve.