She sat in the therapist's office once again. The place was prettier than she remembered. She sighed, rubbing her hands nervously.
The therapist, a woman with a kind smile, exuded warmth, the kind of warmth that made Frida want to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.
The room was hyper-feminine: white lace curtains, super soft fluffy slippers, sweetheart-shaped seats, and heart-shaped plush pillows.
Everything looked like it belonged in a serene dream. The chamomile scent in the air completed the ambiance.
Frida felt almost too at ease, like she might drift off to sleep in this white heaven. She took the chamomile tea offered to her from a fine ceramic set and sipped. The warmth spread through her, easing her nerves slightly.
"It's been a while, Frida," the therapist said softly, her voice as soothing as the tea.
Frida nodded, absently rubbing a plush pillow in circles. Its smiley face seemed to beam up at her.
"So, how have you been?" the therapist prompted gently.
