Gemotions

He’d booked the appointment on a whim, more out of a sense of obligation than any actual desire for therapy. Now, in the sterile silence of the office, staring across the desk at Kevin, the boy who'd once stolen his lunch money, a strange detachment washed over him. He felt nothing.

Kevin, or Dr. Kevin now, gestured to the chair. The room was predictably boring, the kind of space designed to induce calmness. He sat, crossing his arms.

“So, tell me what brings you here,” Kevin said, his voice measured.

He shrugged, the movement perfunctory. He repeated the rehearsed reason for his visit, reciting the words as if they were lines in a forgotten play. Kevin asked the typical questions, a checklist of concerns. He watched Kevin's face, searching for a flicker of recognition, a hint of the past. There was nothing. Just the professional mask.