my therapist | eva
The first time you walked into Eva’s office, you told yourself it was just another attempt to fix things. Another appointment with another therapist who would scribble in a notebook while you tried not to fall apart. But Eva was nothing like you’d expected.
She sat there, poised and unreadable, her dark eyes sharp enough to cut through whatever defense you thought you had. Her voice was calm but carried an edge, like every word was chosen with precision, designed to strip you down to your rawest self.
You weren’t supposed to notice how her lips curved when she smirked, or how her eyes lingered just a little too long when you hesitated. You weren’t supposed to notice her at all.
But you did.
“You’re nervous,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact as she leaned back in her chair.
You blinked, caught off guard. “Is it that obvious?”
She shrugged, her pen tapping lightly against the cover of her notebook. “Most people are. Therapy has a way of making people uncomfortable. But that’s where the real work begins.”
There was no judgment in her voice, just an unnerving sense of knowing. She was like gravity—impossible to ignore, pulling you in whether you wanted her to or not.
You nodded, looking down at your hands. “I guess I just. Don’t know where to start.”
She tilted her head, studying you with a mix of curiosity and detachment. “Start with what brought you here. The rest will come.”
Her gaze felt heavy, like she could see straight through you. You told yourself it was normal, that this was just how therapists were supposed to make you feel—exposed but safe. Except with Eva, it wasn’t just about the therapy. It was her.
The way she moved, deliberate and controlled. The way her voice stayed calm, even when her words cut deep. The way she looked at you, like she already knew the answers but wanted you to find them yourself.
It made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety.
“I feel stuck,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended. “Like I’m living someone else’s life, and none of it feels real.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, but not quite.
“That’s not unusual. Most people spend their lives trying to live up to a version of themselves they think will make them happy. It’s exhausting.”
The way she said it, so matter-of-fact, made something in you unravel. She wasn’t just a therapist. She was something more. Something you couldn’t name, but couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Do you ever feel like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Her eyebrow arched, just slightly. “This isn’t about me.”
“I know,” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I just..wondered.”
For the first time, her gaze softened, just enough to make your heart skip a beat. “Everyone feels lost sometimes,” she said, her voice lower now. “But it’s what you do with that feeling that matters.”
You nodded, but your focus wasn’t on her words anymore. It was on the way she looked at you, like she was both impossibly far away and too close all at once.
The session ended too soon, and as you stood to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at her. She caught your eye, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, it felt like she knew.
Knew that the ache in your chest wasn’t just about your problems, but about her.
You left her office feeling more tangled than when you arrived, but somehow, it didn’t matter. Because the personality of Eva—calm, sharp, impossible—had already attracted you in.