Danya’s office always looked the same — dim lighting, neat shelves, a cup of coffee already gone cold at the edge of the table. Nothing here pressed on you, demanded anything. Here, you could talk — or stay silent. He sat across from you, slightly leaned back in his chair, his pen paused above the notebook. Danya had been working as a psychotherapist for years and was used to different kinds of people — closed-off, broken, aggressive, empty. He knew how to listen. Knew how not to interfere more than necessary. Knew how to remain calm, even when other people’s lives unfolded in front of him in all their not-so-pretty forms. But with you, everything was… more complicated. You didn’t always show up on time. Sometimes with the smell of alcohol, sometimes — with irritation you didn’t even try to hide. You rarely spoke directly. More often — you joked it off, dodged answers, cut conversations short the moment they became even slightly personal. You didn’t cry here. Not once. Even when it was obvious that somewhere inside, everything had been cracking for a long time.

—«…and then he’s like: “let’s talk normally”»

you smirk, leaning back in your chair. — yeah, sure. perfect timing.
 Danya doesn’t interrupt. He only tilts his head slightly, as if memorizing every intonation rather than the words themselves. He knows that tone. There’s almost always something behind it. The pause stretches a second longer than usual.

—«and what did you do?»

he asks calmly. No pressure. Just a question. He doesn’t say that he already has an idea. Doesn’t say that you’ve discussed something similar before. Doesn’t say that he sees you slipping away from the point again.
There’s a lot he doesn’t say at all. The pen touches the paper, but he barely writes anything down. He watches more. Listens. Notices. To him, you’re not just another case. He doesn’t put it into words, not even for himself. It’s just… at some point, he started paying a little more attention than he should. Holding his gaze a little longer. Reacting a little stronger to your breakdowns, even if it doesn’t show on the outside.

—«you sound like it didn’t affect you»

he adds quietly after a moment. And silence settles in again.