The soft afternoon light spilled through the tall windows of Dr. Lennox's office, casting long, warm shadows across the muted green walls. The room smelled faintly of chamomile and old books, a quiet sanctuary away from the noise of the world.
Aura sat on the edge of the couch, her posture taut as always — like a runner ready to sprint. Her hands rested lightly on her knees, fingers twitching just enough to betray her otherwise calm exterior. She had recently learned to keep her emotions in check, but the therapist's presence made it a little easier to let her guard down.
Dr. Lennox, sitting opposite her in a comfortable armchair, gave a small encouraging smile.
"So, how have you been since our last session, Aura?"
Aura returned the smile, careful to sound confident. "I've been doing really well. My grades are improving—I got an A on my last chemistry test. And soccer's going great. Coach says my stamina has gotten a lot better."
"That's wonderful to hear." Dr. Lennox replied warmly. "Sounds like you're putting a lot of hard work into things."
Aura nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am." She hesitated, then bit her lower lip, searching for the right words.
"But there's something I haven't really said out loud. Something I've been carrying with me for a little while.."
Dr. Lennox tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft but focused. "Whenever you're ready."
Aura took a slow breath, steadying herself.
"I miss my grandmother."
The room seemed to still for a moment. Aura's fingers curled around the fabric of her sweatshirt, knuckles whitening.
"But... it's not really her I miss. Not at all." She rushed on, afraid to be misunderstood.
"Not the way she was—the way she was so hard on all of us. The way she made things feel... impossible. No, I miss the version of her I wished I had. The grandmother who could've been kind, or loving, or even just someone who cared, even if it was a little bit."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she blinked quickly to hold back tears.
"Does that make me a bad person?" she asked, voice trembling. "To miss someone who was a nightmare to me and my family? Who hurt us?"
Dr. Lennox's gaze was steady, warm, and full of quiet understanding. She leaned forward slightly, as if bridging the space between them with care.
"Not at all, Aura." She said softly.
"What you're feeling is perfectly human. Grief isn't only about losing the person as they were. Sometimes, it's about mourning the relationship you hoped for but never had. It's the pain of what might have been."
Aura swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing heavier.
Dr. Lennox shook her head gently. "Feeling conflicted like this doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're grappling with something complicated and painful. It's part of healing — allowing yourself to hold those contradictory feelings at once."
Aura exhaled slowly, the tightness in her chest loosening just a little.
Dr. Lennox watched Aura closely, her experienced gaze catching the subtle shift in the girl's energy after the heavy conversation about her grandmother. The room felt still — the kind of quiet that lingers when someone is carrying something fragile and raw. Not wanting to press too hard on painful ground, Dr. Lennox gently steered the conversation toward lighter terrain.
"So.." she said, voice soft but curious, "You mentioned soccer earlier. How's that going for you? Are you enjoying being back on the team this year?"
Aura's shoulders eased slightly, as if the question offered a small refuge. She folded her hands in her lap and took a breath, the edge of her lips tugging into something almost like a smile.
"Yeah!" she replied quietly, "I've been working really hard. Keeping up with training, showing up to every practice. It's... it's something I look forward to. Helps keep me grounded."
Dr. Lennox nodded encouragingly, her tone warm.
"It sounds like you've found a good way to take care of yourself. Team sports can be a powerful way to feel connected — and to find some balance."
Aura glanced up, her eyes brightening just a little as they caught the light.
"There's someone on the team — Leah. She's our captain." Her voice grew softer, more thoughtful. "She's really... good. Not just at soccer. She's good at reading the game, but also... at understanding people. We talk a lot, she walks to school with me every day.."
Dr. Lennox's eyes lifted, watching the subtle transformation in Aura's posture. Where moments before she'd been tight and guarded, now there was something lighter, almost eager in the way she spoke. The tension in her shoulders eased; a faint glow of warmth blossomed in her cheeks.
"What is it about Leah that stands out to you?" Dr. Lennox asked gently, inviting but careful.
Aura hesitated for a beat, then offered, "Uh, she's really kind. I don't mean like just nice — she listens. Like, really listens. Like she hears what I'm not saying. And when she smiles, it's... real. It makes me feel like maybe I don't have to keep running all the time."
Dr. Lennox smiled quietly, sensing the vulnerability behind those words.
"That sounds like a very special kind of connection, Aura."
Aura looked down for a moment, twisting the hem of her sweatshirt between her fingers. "Yeah. I think it might be." Her voice was low, uncertain, but hopeful.
The room felt lighter now, the heavy shadows of earlier conversations softened by this fragile, budding hope.
Dr. Lennox's smile deepened, her tone gentle but warm.
"You deserve to feel safe, Aura. And it sounds like Leah helps you feel that."
Aura nodded slowly, her lips curling into a shy, genuine smile. "Yeah. I like that."
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the unspoken understanding filling the space between them — a promise that Aura's feelings, however new and uncertain, were real and valid.
Aura glanced up at Dr. Lennox, a faint but genuine smile lingering on her lips. The heaviness of the earlier conversation had lifted somewhat, replaced by a flicker of hope and something new to hold onto.
"Well.." Aura said, awkwardly standing and stretching lightly, "I think that's enough for today."
Dr. Lennox nodded, her expression warm and encouraging.
"You've made really good progress, Aura. Remember, it's okay to hold onto those complicated feelings. Healing isn't linear."
Aura nodded again, gathering her things. "Thanks, Dr. Lennox. See you next week."
She pushed open the clinic door and stepped out into the warm afternoon light. The sun slanted low, casting long shadows across the quiet street. Jackson was already there, leaning against the rough brick wall of the building, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His dark hair was tousled, and though his face looked tired, his eyes were alert and steady—watching for her.
She gave a small, grateful smile. "Thanks for waiting."
Jackson shrugged with that lazy, half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Figured someone had to."
Aura's cheeks flushed with a little embarrassment. "It's kind of... weird, you know. Being in therapy. I feel a bit embarrassed."
Jackson let out a soft scoff, shaking his head as if dismissing the whole idea.
"Don't let it get to you, Aur." He said, voice low but steady. "You're braver than most people I know."
There was a rare softness in his tone—a quiet pride that he would never admit aloud. Jackson wasn't one for words or grand gestures. He carried his feelings like a shield, rough and impenetrable, but Aura knew him better than anyone.
She saw the way he protected his family, not with speeches, but with his presence, his quiet loyalty.
"Besides.." he added, nudging her gently with his shoulder, "I'm the last one to judge."
They fell into an easy silence, the kind only siblings who've grown up together can share. Aura looked at him, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes, the slight weariness in his posture. The rehab, the hard nights alone, the battles he fought silently—things he never talked about but she understood.
Those struggles had carved lines in him, made him tougher, but never less caring.
"You okay?" she asked softly, hesitating only for a moment.
"Yeah, I'm just really tired." he muttered, voice rough but steady.
Aura didn't press. She knew better than to push when he wasn't ready. Their special bond was built on knowing, on small moments like this, on silent support.
"C'mon.." he said finally, stepping off the wall with a slight groan. "I'm starving. Let's get some food."
She looped her arm through his as they started down the street together. The familiar weight of him beside her was comforting. No matter how messy things got, no matter how broken they sometimes felt, they had each other—and that was enough.