“What are you doing here Jimin?” I whispered past the tears in my throat, my words catching on his name. He looked dashing in a plum-colored suit jacket over a black turtleneck, the more formal wear brought into casualness by the dark jeans he wore. His dark hair was swept back and away from his face, but he ran a hand through it carelessly, mussing the structured strands until some fell waywardly over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to in. I just thought that maybe, if you were upset, I could help out?” His explanation caused warmth to rush into my cheeks, newly aware that I had come to someone else’s party and started crying. Surely that went some rules of proper etiquette. But it hadn’t been easy being in the midst of so much happiness and love, watching couples dance and friends laugh. I hadn’t had that in so long, it felt like those memories and emotions were from another life. Faded and distant, removed from reality. And the more I watched the more I realized how I sat outside of it all, stuck in my own solitary world. At first, I had walked outside to just escape it all, but somehow tears had formed in my eyes and thinking that I was alone, I hadn’t bothered to try and hold them back.

“I’m fine I promise. Just a tough day,” I told the lie with a small smile, brushing away the wetness that still lingered under my eyes with a few fingers.

“Would you- like to talk to me I mean? I know I’m not a therapist or anything but if you do need someone to talk to, I’m willing.”  

He was sweet, with his head ducked shyly to one side while he examined me, his eyes roaming across my face. Jimin seemed sincere in his offer but the worst part was that I was tempted. Tempted to tell this stranger about my past with my husband, about the pain that still took over so much of my heart. I didn’t understand the feeling, didn’t understand why I would be alright with speaking to him when my parents, siblings and friends had all begged for me to talk to them. I hadn’t been able to utter a word, too full of grief. But here I was, feeling as if I was finally ready to spill it all.

I shook my head no at his offer and his smile dimmed. A sensation of having kicked a puppy entered my heart and I felt compelled to explain.

“It’s just personal, it’s not something I really want to talk about, you know?”

“I get that, please don’t think I was forcing you.” He gave an uneasy laugh and ran his fingers through his hair yet again, this time in nervousness. “Did you like the food at the restaurant the other day? I’d like it if you came by again.”

Jimin pierced with me a calm and gentle gaze that was quickly transitioning into something hot and openly sensual the longer he looked at me. What could I do with my fiercely beating heart and the breath that caught in my lungs?  He was only inviting me to eat at his business again and yet it seemed weighty, full of something I didn’t want to look too closely at. I wasn’t stupid. He was interested- and I didn’t know what I was.

“I’ll think about it,” I told him as gently as I could, wondering why I was so concerned with hurting his feelings. He was just some random guy, and there had been a ton of random guys who had approached me since Jaime’s passing. They hadn’t made my heartbeat quicken in my chest though, they hadn’t made me want to smile. I pushed the tendrils of affection down as tightly as I could, clenching my fists against the need to reach out to him. That way only led to danger.

I couldn’t stay any longer, not with the way he looked at me with hope in his eyes and sweet smile that held a hint of mischief. Jimin Park threatened the careful walls I’d built around my heart and I barely knew him. I couldn’t stand to think of what would happen if I let him in, if he saw the mess I tried desperately I hide. Nodding to Jimin, I skirted around his body and made my way back into the party, my tears dry and my heart calm for the moment.

I wandered through the partygoers with ease, quick steps bringing back towards the front of the house where MiRan was holding court. Surrounded by people that looked like family, I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. I waited until I caught her eye and lifted my hand in a wave goodbye, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. She gave me a wave back and satisfied that I had done my due diligence as a guest, left the house as if my was on fire.

My Uber took only minutes to get to this area which was a relief. I stepped into the stranger’s car that smelled lightly of smoke and waited as he brought me almost fifteen minutes away to my own neighborhood. The sun had truly set by now and the dark had chilled the air. I thanked the driver and walked hurriedly into my townhome, regretting not wearing a jacket. But my night was thankfully over and now I could breathe again back in my own space.

I switched on the lights in the empty house, my heart panging in my chest after leaving a house filled with so much laughter and love. I slowly made my way to my room, stepping out of my heels as I took the stairs one by one. A hot shower sounded like a wonderful idea before bed. I stayed under the spray for a while but the tension in my shoulders didn’t ease and the smell of the lotion I used on my body wasn’t as pleasant.

I lay underneath my covers simply thinking, the queen-sized bed too large for just me. It had been almost four years since Jaime’s death, two of which I’d spent mired in grief. Tears slipped down my cheeks and I choked back the sobs that begged to be released. All of life was a what if waiting to take place and the worst that could be imagined had happened to me. I’d had everything...and now I was alone.

I could still clearly remember our time together at CSU, our eyes connecting over notes while we tried to study but our closeness would always make it hard to ignore the other person for long. I recalled easily the way we used to walk through our small town on weekends and how we would always pass that road where we’d first met. Jaime would wink and say that calling out to me that day had been the best decision of his life. And every night at home as we planned out our future in whispers tucked closely together in our bed, I could still hear the beating of his heart, feel the steadiness of his breath. That life would never return; how could I explain that to anyone, how could they understand what I had lost?

It wasn’t that I didn’t know my feelings were unhealthy. When I had first seemed so lost in my pain, my parents had urged me to go to therapy and, tired of causing them worry, I went reluctantly. At the time I didn’t really think any of it would make much of a difference, but perhaps there had been a small part of me hoping for a glimmer of relief. And that tiny portion was severely disappointed by the experience.

The woman had taken one look at me and pronounced proudly that I was in a state of depression, along with an explanation that I was at risk of harming myself if I didn’t get on medication. Everything she’d told me I would’ve been able to find on my own after a quick google search about grief after losing a partner. I didn’t want to be medicated, I only wanted to mourn my husband in peace. Naturally I hadn’t returned but I had started taking my parents calls, if only to stop them from making me go back.

A psychologist’s purpose should have been to be there just so that you’d have a person to talk to, to give a voice to your subconscious thoughts. But I honestly didn’t want to some stranger knowing everything about me, which made it even more ridiculous that I wanted to talk to Jimin. But my thoughts and emotions were tender things, so squishy and pain-filled that they resisted any attempt to touch them.

I didn’t know if I could be healed, I didn’t know if I wanted to be. But I was filled to bursting, bits of me exploding out unbidden. The memories were taking over and I knew I needed help.

Like every place seemed to be in Philly, the psychologist’s office was in a renovated brick townhome, the sign outside of it standing in welcome on its front porch. The interior was similarly inviting, the lobby painted in a light shade of yellow, the furniture in grey fabric. The receptionist smiled warmly at me as I signed in and I filled out a form as I waited for my appointment. After I’d handed in the sheet, it was only minutes before Dr. Meyers walked out of her office and called my name. I stood on shaking feet and walked hurriedly into her office.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Miller,” she greeted once we’d taken our seats.

“You too,” I replied on autopilot while the rest of my brain was busy, taking in the older woman who looked to be about sixty, her dark brown haired streaked liberally with white but left hanging loose around her shoulders. Gold wire frames were perched on her nose and she smiled at me gently, which somehow managed to set me more at ease.

“You wrote here that your husband passed. You didn’t mention his name.” My hands shook as she spoke, her tone soft enough but I was fragile, hairline cracks forming in my wall.

“Yes I- his name was Jaime,” my voice died in my throat and I had to cough to get it back, “he died several years ago.”

She only hummed as she wrote a note to herself and I felt a twitching sensation at my back. I sat up in my seat, but it was hard to look directly at her.

“Did it feel like a struggle before, talking about your husband?”

“Oh… yes,” I in a breath at the memory of the sharp agony that used to go through me every time someone said his name. As if my heart was being split in two. “Yes, it used to hurt. But it’s lessened over the years. Sometimes, I just want to keep a small bit of him to myself by not saying his name. Is that weird?” I asked her with a crooked smile, and she sent one back to me.

“Not at all Zayne. There is no one size fits all style of grieving. Loss hits us all hard and we deal with tough situations in different ways.” She noted something else down on her pad but this time it didn’t make me feel nervous. “Do you feel like you’re dealing with your loss effectively?”

I blew out a breath and looked at my hands, their steadiness somewhat calming. Once upon a time, they would have been shaking at any mention of Jaime.

“I guess it’s getting better. For a long time it wasn’t, for a long time it hurt so badly that I was numb. I wanted to cry and yell and just lose it all the time...But I couldn’t make a sound,” I muttered, thinking of the difficulty of those first months, of the sleepless nights and days spent trapped in my own head. All of it so lifeless and gray.

“You said you’d been to therapy before on your admission sheet. Did it help you?”

“No, my first therapist - she didn’t care. And then I didn’t want to talk to anyone after that. I was scared I guess, of talking to someone else.” Of hearing them tell me I was a lost cause.

“So, what made you want to try again?” I smiled ruefully at the image of a man that floated to mind, his hair falling charmingly around his forehead.

“There’s a person I want to talk to, but I don’t want to burden him with all my feelings. It’s not fair to throw all of this on him.” Dr. Meyers looked at me over the rim of her glasses, her eyes searching mine.  

“Did he ask you to talk about your past?”

“Not specifically no, but I can’t talk about my present without talking about Jaime. And I don’t want to pretend like my late husband never existed... I suppose I’m here because I’m confused.”

“And perhaps scared he’ll run away?” She asked calmly and I nodded, feeling down at the thought.

“I haven’t felt anything in so long. But his emotions are important too. I don’t want to be selfish; I don’t want to force him into my head. It’s not always a happy place.”

“Therapy in and of itself is meant for healing. While we encourage people to seek professional help, that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to speak to others about your experiences. If someone is genuinely willing to listen to you and you feel safe enough to speak to them, it may be a good idea to consider the possibility in earnest.”

Dr Meyers said many other things that day in our session, talked to me about life before and after my late husband. She was a quiet presence, prodding only lightly when my words failed me. She waited when I struggled to form words, didn’t judge me when I told her of my way of coping.

At the end of our session, she told me to come back if I felt the need to do so. And she told me one other thing as well.

“There is no shame in your pain Zayne. And you are allowed to feel it for as long as you like.”

I had known that but somehow hearing it out loud changed something, made it easier to breathe. If there was no time limit, no specific moment where I all of sudden had to be better in a month or two or even in a few years, then maybe I could try. Maybe.

“Zayne, you’re here! Come try this out!” Ricky called me over as soon as I walked into the kitchen of the community center, his mouth and hands full of something. “MiRan brought these in, they’re great!” The woman in question beamed with pride, holding out the container of what looked like a kind of sushi out to me as I got closer. There were many kinds of rolls of rice wrapped in seaweed, some colorful in reds and yellows, while others looked to be filled with tuna or crab. I picked up a colorful one and stuffed back a moan of pleasure after tasting it.

“It is good,” I nodded dumbly while I chewed, already wondering if I could have a second piece. MiRan laughed in delight as more hands made their way into the Tupperware.

“It’s called kimbap. My nephew owns a restaurant downtown, it opened a few years ago. It does so well now, it’d be wonderful if you all went there. If you tell him I sent you there’s a chance of a discount,” she winked, and I shook my head at her shameless plugging.

“Was your nephew at the party last week?” Amanda asked.

“He was, you all must have seen him around. He was wearing glasses and that purple jacket. No idea what the boy was thinking wearing that but kids these days, “she muttered almost to herself. “Zayne spoke with him; do you remember Zayne?” She suddenly asked brightly.

Upturned faces looked to me and I bit my lip at the nervousness that sprung up instantly.

“I-I only spoke to Jimin Park that day. He was the one who made the kimbap?”

“Yes, that’s him! You won’t believe me, but I burn water on a good day. My husband used to say I was hopeless, he bragged that he only kept me around for my good looks.” The older woman sent another wink out amidst groans from all of us and let out a tinkle of laughter. In that moment the wrinkles and loose skin disappeared, and I thought that she was still very much a beautiful person, inside and out.

“The men of our family fare much better in the kitchen but my nephew is something else. Make sure you stop by, I’m sure he’d be really pleased to see you again.”  MiRan said this easily enough but I was fighting a losing battle with myself over that very same thing. Should I bother going, would he truly want me there? Could I risk it?

With the weather changing, it rained almost nonstop in the city of brotherly love, the easing into fall a damp process. Green leaves had begun to change in color, the fading just as beautiful in warm tone of orange, brown and red. The trees that dotted sidewalks were almost incongruous bits of nature in the metal and glass of the city, as if they were small oases of nature, still determined to have a place in our modern jungle. I wandered as I usually did without thinking of much, my day shorter than it normally was since I hadn’t stayed to hand out the meals we’d prepped. I was feeling listless cooped up indoors and I wondered where I could go, the weather not hindering me much anymore in the thick wool coat I wore.

Without me realizing, it seemed like my feet had made the decision for me. As I became slowly aware of my surroundings, I comprehended that the restaurant was only a block away. I worried my lower lip with my teeth, anxiety eating away at my stomach. I could be there in only a few minutes… so I kept walking.

Petrichor is the name of that earthy scent created when rain falls on dry soil. There’s always been something immensely soothing about it, complicated if I needed to put it in words and yet simple at the same time if I kept it in my thoughts. It always made me extraordinarily aware of things once the scent filled my nose. All of a sudden, I knew that the grass had a different smell to concrete. That in fact, everything started having its own smell, its own taste on the tongue. But none of it would have been possible without the rain first.

If I hadn’t stopped by Jimin’s restaurant that day, I wondered if I would be feeling everything that I felt now. I wondered if I would’ve kept living without truly being alive. I didn’t know if maybe I was meant to be lost in the fog, the tempting brightness of Jimin too blinding to ever contemplate wanting more. But as I walked up to his restaurant and saw him through the large window, I felt the heavy weight on my chest lighten, if only by a little.

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome back to the story. Have any of you experienced therapy before? Was it helpful, did it help you to understand yourself more? I remember the nervousness of my own first visit but overall I think it's good to talk to people, even if it's just a friend or even a random person on the internet. We're all dealing with so much, but there are always similarities to our stories, being able to relate to someone is almost a blessing, we can understand one another you know? This story always gets me all introspective lol, so let me stop rambling. Remember to COMMENT, UPVOTE, and SUBSCRIBE for more content! much love, <3!