Mine & Yours

to leave my office. "Well, it looks like you've survived another session without me giving you too much homework. But don't worry-I'll make sure to assign some extra se

sunlight cutting through storm clouds-rare, fleet

tched as he hailed down a cab and got into it. He didn't even look up to see if I was watching him. For a moment, I felt bad. I sat back in my

iend. The enabler. She was laughing in the video, holding a glass of wine, her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around the stem like it was a trophy for surviv

wounds instead of healing them. A therapist's nightmare disguised as a support system. But Whitney isn't just a friend; she's a mirror William doesn't know he is looking into. The same dad

t enabling William; maybe she's feeding off her pain, thriving on it like a parasite disguised as a confidante. My mind flashes back at William's earlier today-his words echo in my mi

owerment and subtle digs at William's insecurities. And then I see it: a photo from last week, Whitney and William at brunch, arms draped around each othe

m watching. For William's sake, of course. Someone has to protect her fr

*

plates full, stories flowing. They talk about their days-the good, the bad, the silly. No ph

n their tests. There's always a favorite dish on the table, and always enough. Even when things go wrong, they fi

as usually quiet. Sometimes just me and a reheated plate, maybe a show playing in the background. But it never felt sad. It was just

e-what they said, what they didn't, and all the messy stuff in between. I nev

*

lights buzzed overhead, always just a little too bright. The platform was mostly empty-just a

d in the stillness. A gust of warm subway air followed me up, thick and stale,

ng shadows that seemed detached from their sources. I passed shuttered shops, a fl

his wife's love story on TikTok. It was very cute. I hope to have something like t

ing alone at the corner table of a café I'd wandered into, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. His eyes were fixed on a book-"T

phone while stealing glances at his every move. There was something about him-the way he held himself, like he was carrying the weight of something he couldn't quit

ed against the rain, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of thoughts were swirling around in his min

social media. His profile was sparse-just a handful of photos and vague captions-but it was enough to piece together the basics. He worked in mar

gh strangers' profiles now and then? But as the days turned into weeks and my curiosity grew into something sharper,

d. I "accidentally" bumped into him at a library we both frequented, knocking over a stack of books as I apologized

" he said casually as we st

se, though I could recall every instance w

bit by bit-a shared interest here, a coincidental meeting the

since then. The hours spent studying his habits, anticipating his movements, crafting conversations th

el more like chess matches than therapy. He thinks I'm helping him heal; I thi

e like sunlight-I can't shake the feeling that this isn't enough anymore. Watching from afar was sa

all o

give it to me-whether

every window I passed felt like a little world I wasn't part of-families eating dinner, someone laughing at a scre

y apartment. It was dark inside. I didn't turn on the lights right awa

bad; it