Chapter Eight: Small Fires
The clinic’s staff kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and turmeric — a strange combination that Maya had grown weirdly fond of. She stirred her tea absently, eyes drifting toward the glass-paneled door where Adrian sat in one of the smaller therapy rooms, waiting.
It was unusual. He was always early, always composed, but today he looked… off. Less polished. More inward.
Maya stepped in, carrying her mug.
“You’re fifteen minutes early,” she said lightly. “Either you’re hiding from a code bug, or you’ve finally decided that emotions are contagious and you want to catch some.”
Adrian offered a weak smile.
“Neither. Just… needed quiet.”
She sat across from him without asking.
“You alright?”
He hesitated. That was the question, wasn’t it?
“I got an email from my uncle in Enugu,” he said slowly. “He was cleaning out some old boxes. Found a few letters my mother wrote. Ones she never sent.”
Maya stilled.
“Letters to you?”
He nodded.
“To me. To herself. I don’t know. I haven’t read them yet.”
There was a long pause between them. Then Maya spoke, her voice soft.
“You don’t have to be strong here, you know. Not with me.”
He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
“You make that sound so easy.”
“Because it is,” she said. “Not always — but sometimes. And when it is, it’s worth leaning into.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before handing it to her. On the screen was a photo of one of the letters, old and yellowed with time. She read a few lines.
“If I ever see Adrian cry again, I want it to be from joy. I want him to believe the world can be kind.”
Maya blinked, emotion catching her off-guard. She looked up.
“Adrian…”
“I used to think emotions were like wildfires,” he murmured. “Once they start, they burn through everything.”
“And now?”
He exhaled.
“Now I’m wondering if maybe… they’re more like small fires. Controlled. Necessary. Like warmth.”
Maya’s heart stuttered at the metaphor. She saw something shift in him — not a dramatic change, but a gentle unraveling of old knots.
“I think you’re starting to feel things you’ve trained yourself to avoid,” she said quietly. “And that’s scary, but also… beautiful.”
Their eyes held for a long beat.
Then the door creaked open, and Alex peeked in.
“Are we starting?”
Adrian blinked, the moment breaking. He nodded, standing.
“Yes. Let’s begin.”
Maya lingered a second longer, watching him walk ahead, something softer in his step.
Maybe this was how healing started — not with grand confessions, but with small fires, lit quietly between two people learning how not to burn.
