Dr. Bennet crossed one leg over the other, pen tapping slowly against his notepad. "Have you ever been in a relationship before Cassidy, Ezekiel? A real one—romantic?"
Zeke gave a faint shake of his head. "A girlfriend? No. Fling? Plenty."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "So... you've had casual encounters, but never real attachment?"
Zeke leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I never saw the point. Feelings complicate things."
Dr. Bennet let the silence stretch before speaking again, voice calm. "Do you think you've ever been in love?"
Zeke snorted softly. "No. Not once. I've never even liked someone. Not in that way."
The doctor nodded slowly, letting the weight of Zeke's words settle. Then he asked, "What did you feel when you were with Cassidy?"
Zeke hesitated, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "Peace," he said finally. "She was... quiet. Calm. Didn't talk much unless necessary. I liked that. I liked the silence she brought."
Dr. Bennet tilted his head. "Because silence felt familiar to you?"
"No," Zeke replied after a pause. "Because her silence didn't feel cold. It was... gentle. Like sitting beside a still lake. I've been surrounded by noise my entire life—expectations, pressure, control. But with her... I could just be. No need to perform. No need to prove anything."
Dr. Bennet gave a slight smile. "So perhaps what you felt wasn't traditional 'love' as you define it. But it was something real. Something that mattered."
Zeke's jaw tightened slightly. "Maybe. But if it mattered, why does it feel like I let it slip through my fingers without even trying to hold on?"
Dr. Bennet looked at him kindly. "That's the question, isn't it?"
Dr. Bennet observed the silence that had settled in the room. Zeke was no longer speaking, his eyes distant, thoughts clearly tangled in something deeper. The doctor didn't rush to fill the void—instead, he gave it space.
After a moment, Dr. Bennet spoke gently, "Perhaps we should end the session here for today."
Zeke looked at him, a slight furrow between his brows, but said nothing.
Dr. Bennet offered a small, understanding smile. "Sometimes, reflection takes longer than words. I'd like you to take some time this week, Ezekiel. Think about what you truly feel. Not what you think you should feel."
Zeke nodded slowly.
"I hope," Dr. Bennet continued, standing as he closed his notebook, "that today's session has helped ease a bit of what's been weighing you down."
Then, he asked, "Would you still like something to help you sleep?"
Zeke exhaled. "Yeah. I think I do."
The doctor pulled a small prescription pad from his leather case and scribbled something on it. He handed it over without another word about the pills.
"If you'd like to continue, I'm available once a week," Dr. Bennet added. "Or... whenever you feel you're ready. I'll let you decide the pace."
Zeke looked up at him, his voice low but steady. "Once a week. That's fine."
Dr. Bennet gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Then I'll have my assistant call Andrew to confirm the schedule."
He extended his hand. "Take care, Ezekiel."
Zeke shook it, firm and brief. "Thanks... for coming."
As Dr. Bennet exited the apartment, the quiet returned. But this time, it didn't feel quite as heavy.
***
The apartment was quiet again.
Zeke stood by the tall windows of his penthouse, the city lights glittering like a thousand restless thoughts below. He held a glass of water in one hand, untouched sleeping pills in the other. For a moment, he just stared at the pills—like they might tell him what he was really feeling.
"What did you feel when you were with her?"
Dr. Bennet's question lingered in his mind, looping like a slow-burning echo.
"Peace. Calm."
That had been his answer. And it was true. But why did that calm now feel like something missing?
Zeke set the pills down on the table and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He didn't lie down just yet. He stared at the empty side of the mattress. Her side.
Zeke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. For years, he'd operated on efficiency, purpose, logic. He didn't chase feelings. He didn't need them.
So why did the absence of one woman feel so disproportionally loud in his life?
He rubbed his face, frustrated. Not with her. With himself.
Maybe he was broken in a way he never noticed—until Cassidy left. Until her quietness was no longer sitting across the table. Until her steps no longer echoed in the hallway. Until the warmth of her body wasn't next to his during the nights that stretched too long.
He had never been in love.
That's what he told Dr. Bennet.
But tonight, alone with nothing but silence and moonlight, Zeke began to wonder if maybe he didn't know what love looked like.
Maybe… it looked a little like peace. Like Cassidy.
He lay back slowly on the bed, eyes open to the ceiling. The city buzzed outside, but inside, everything was still.
Zeke fell asleep earlier than usual that night, thanks to the sleeping pills prescribed by Dr. Bennet. But the peace didn't last long.
In his dream, he found himself standing in a garden—unfamiliar, yet oddly vivid. The sun filtered softly through the leaves, and in the distance, the faint sound of classical music played. Chairs were lined up, flowers decorated the space—like the setting of a wedding ceremony.
Zeke stood among the guests, all dressed in formal attire. He wore a black suit. The faces around him were blurred, unrecognizable.
Then his eyes landed on a woman standing at the altar. Cassidy.
She was wearing a simple white dress, her hair neatly tied up. Next to her stood a man—tall, kind-looking, and gazing at Cassidy with adoration.
The officiant was speaking words Zeke couldn't quite hear. Cassidy chuckled softly, and the man held her hand tightly.
Zeke couldn't move. His chest tightened.
When the officiant said, "You may now kiss the bride," Zeke felt like something had been ripped out from inside him. The man kissed Cassidy gently. She kissed him back… like she meant it.
Zeke wanted to shout. To step forward and pull her away. But his body wouldn't budge. His voice was stuck in his throat. The crowd erupted in cheers—and Cassidy didn't even glance his way.
Suddenly, Cassidy turned her head and looked straight at him. She smiled—a small, serene smile. Not warm. Not sad. Just… peaceful. As if to say, "You were too late."
Zeke jolted awake. His breathing was heavy, chest heaving.
The room was still dark, the curtains still drawn. But something inside him burned hot, unsettled.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing heart. But the feeling the dream left behind was overwhelming.
Jealousy.
Anger.
Loss.
Emotions he had refused to acknowledge—that Cassidy might actually be happy without him.
And for some reason… that hurt more than he ever expected.
***
Zeke walked into the office that morning with a storm cloud over his head.
His brows were furrowed, his jaw clenched, and the air around him screamed stay away. Everyone in the building could feel it—the boss was in one of those moods again. No one dared make eye contact as he passed.
In the boardroom, during a scheduled meeting, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
A junior manager nervously stepped forward to begin a presentation on the latest quarter's figures. The lights dimmed, slides clicked forward… and then Zeke cut in.
"This is what you bring me after a week of prep?" His voice was cold and sharp. "You think this is acceptable? Sloppy formatting, no concrete projections, and vague analysis. Are you even trying?"
The room went dead silent.
"I don't pay any of you to waste my time," Zeke continued, eyes scanning the table. "If this is the best you can do, maybe you're in the wrong building."
The presenter shrank into his chair. No one dared to speak. When the meeting finally ended, his staff filed out as quietly as possible, avoiding Zeke's eyes. Whispers rippled, but they didn't travel far. No one wanted to be next.
Back in his office, Zeke stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, the city sprawling beneath him.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass—perfect suit, sharp features, but eyes that looked… haunted.
His mind drifted—again—to that dream. Cassidy in white. Cassidy smiling. Cassidy with someone else.
What the hell did she do to me? he thought bitterly.
Why can't I get her out of my head?
He walked back to his desk, sank into the chair, and leaned back with a deep sigh. The headache wasn't from lack of sleep this time. It was something else.
Is this love?
Or am I just obsessed with the idea of her—because I lost her?
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, frustrated and restless.
He had never believed in love. Never wanted it. His life had always been about control, power, precision.
But Cassidy…
She slipped past all of that. Quietly. Softly.
And now, even gone—she was still in him.
And he didn't know what to do about it.
***