Sunday stretched on endlessly.
The kind of day that felt too still, too heavy with thoughts he didn't want to have.
Elliot had never been one for idle time. It left too much space for things to crawl out of the corners of his mind — questions, feelings, memories. He preferred schedules, lists, deadlines. Things he could control.
But today, control was slipping through his fingers.
He couldn't stop thinking about Val. About the way she'd laughed last night, head tilted back, her hand in that man's. The shimmer of her red dress. The easy warmth she carried wherever she went.
And the way his stomach had twisted when she'd walked away with someone else.
He didn't understand it. That was the worst part.
He'd gone through the logical list of possibilities — concern for her safety, curiosity, neighbourly responsibility — but none of them sat right. They were excuses, flimsy and transparent. Something else was happening inside him, something unpredictable and uncomfortable, and he hated that he didn't have the language for it.
So, he did what he always did when his emotions grew too loud — he moved.
He spent nearly two hours on his exercise bike, the mechanical whir filling the apartment. Sweat slicked his temples, his legs burned, but the ache was easier to manage than the thoughts.
When his body finally gave out, he showered and cooked — methodically, precisely — vegetables chopped into even squares, sauce stirred in slow, even circles.
He cleaned after eating. The kitchen, the living room, even the bathroom tiles.
By evening, the apartment was spotless. His muscles ached. His chest still didn't feel quiet.
He sat on the couch and turned on the television. The flickering images filled the room — a nature documentary, lions moving through grasslands, the narrator's voice smooth and steady.
He tried to focus on the rhythm of it, but every few minutes, his mind wandered back to the hallway, to Val's laughter echoing faintly in his memory.
He wanted to knock on her door. Ask if she'd had a good time.
Ask who the man was.
Ask why it mattered to him so much.
But he didn't.
Because he knew — he knew — that whatever this was, he couldn't afford to ruin the fragile peace they'd built. She liked him now. They'd laughed together. She'd made him popcorn. He didn't want to lose that.
So he sat there, staring at lions and trying to breathe evenly until the sky outside turned the bruised purple of late evening.
By the time he went to bed, his mind was still spinning. Sleep came in fragments, shallow and restless.
Monday morning arrived like a reprieve.
Dr. Harper's knock came precisely at nine-thirty, steady and soft.
Elliot opened the door almost immediately, as though he'd been waiting by it.
"Good morning, Elliot," the therapist said, stepping inside. "How have you been since last week?"
Elliot hesitated, motioning to the couch. "Better. And… not better."
Dr. Harper gave a small smile and sat. "That sounds complicated."
"It is."
The words came out quieter than intended. Elliot sank onto the couch, his hands tightening together in his lap. The notebook lay on the table, open but untouched since Friday.
He took a breath, then another. "Val — my neighbour — invited me over to watch a film, then I invited her here the following evening to watch another film."
Dr. Harper nodded. "Those are big steps."
"They were." He paused. "And I enjoyed it, I felt good. For a while."
Dr. Harper waited, the silence gentle.
Elliot swallowed hard. "Then she… went on a date. Saturday night. With someone. I saw them. She was smiling."
He exhaled sharply, hands trembling slightly. "And I couldn't stop thinking about it. I still can't."
"I see," Dr. Harper said softly. "How did that make you feel?"
Elliot pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I don't know. Angry, maybe. But also… sad? Or anxious? I don't have the right words. I just know I hated it. The thought of her —"
He stopped, his words catching.
Dr. Harper didn't push. He waited.
Finally, Elliot muttered, "It doesn't make sense. I shouldn't worry about her. She can do what she likes. I just… I didn't want her to."
"That's a very human response," Dr. Harper said gently. "You care about her. That care comes with uncertainty. You're not used to uncertainty, are you?"
Elliot shook his head. "No. I like things predictable. Ordered. People aren't like that."
"No," Dr. Harper agreed, "they're not. And when you care for someone, it can feel like standing on unstable ground. You can't control what they do or how they feel — only how you respond."
Elliot's gaze dropped to his hands. "I'm not good at responding. I say the wrong things. I think I… feel things wrong too."
Dr. Harper's voice softened. "You don't feel things wrong, Elliot. You feel them differently. You process emotions through patterns, logic, rhythm. That's part of how your brain works. But feelings don't follow those rules. They can't be organised into boxes or explained away."
Elliot frowned slightly, as if turning that over in his head.
"Val… she's the opposite of me. Loud, unpredictable. She says whatever she thinks. She feels everything." He shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with that."
"When you get overwhelmed," Dr. Harper continued, "you try to solve the feeling instead of sitting with it. That's why you clean, or work, or exercise. You're trying to make the discomfort disappear."
"I don't know what else to do."
"That's alright. That's what we're here for — to find new ways to hold those feelings without being controlled by them."
Elliot looked up then, cautious. "Like what?"
"For now, when something like this happens — when you feel that surge of emotion — I want you to pause. Don't react. Don't move. Just breathe and ask yourself two questions: What am I feeling? and What do I need right now? Not what you should do, or what you think is right — just what you need."
Elliot nodded slowly, absorbing it. "And if I don't know the answer?"
"Then you wait," Dr. Harper said simply. "You give it time to come to you. Emotions don't need to be solved immediately. They just need to be acknowledged."
The idea seemed to calm something in him. His shoulders loosened, his breathing evened.
After a long pause, Elliot said quietly, "I think I was lonely before. And now that I'm not, I'm scared to lose it again."
Dr. Harper's eyes softened. "That's a very brave thing to say."
Elliot blinked, startled by the praise. "It's not brave. It's just true."
"Sometimes," Dr. Harper said gently, "the truth is brave."
They sat in silence for a few moments. The light from the window moved slowly across the floor, brightening the room.
Elliot finally asked, "Do you think I should tell her how I feel?"
Dr. Harper tilted his head thoughtfully. "Only when you understand what it is you want to say. Right now, I think it's enough to understand that you feel something. Let it exist without rushing to define it."
Elliot nodded. "Alright."
When the session ended, Dr. Harper stood. "You're doing very well, Elliot. These are real, meaningful steps forward. Be gentle with yourself. You're learning something new — how to feel and not run from it."
After he left, Elliot sat for a long while, looking at the notebook on the table.
Then he opened it to a blank page.
He wrote, I think I like the way she laughs. And that scares me.
He closed the notebook softly and for once, he didn't need to clean or move or think.
He just sat there — still, breathing, feeling — and let that be enough.