Chapter 3

The door swung open silently. Paul’s office wasn’t what Leonard had expected. He’d imagined something cold, sterile, like a doctor’s office. This was warm. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dense volumes. A soft lamp glowed on a large, wooden desk, casting a gentle light. There was a comfortable-looking armchair and, surprisingly, a small, plush sofa. The air smelled like old books and faintly of sandalwood.

Paul looked up from his desk. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, just a simple blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked younger, more approachable. He gave Leonard a small, reassuring smile.

“Leonard. Come in. Please, close the door behind you.”

Leonard did, the click of the latch sounding final. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with his hands.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Paul said, his voice calm. He gestured to the armchair and the sofa. “The chair is more formal. The couch is… well, it’s more for relaxing.”

The choice felt significant. The armchair seemed like a patient’s chair. The sofa felt… personal. Dangerous. After a moment’s hesitation, Leonard chose the armchair. He perched on the edge, back straight, ready to bolt.

Paul nodded slightly and moved from behind his desk, pulling up a simple chair to sit opposite Leonard, not too close, but not far away. He didn’t have a notepad. He just looked at Leonard, his expression open and patient.

“Thank you for coming,” Paul began. “I know that couldn’t have been an easy question to ask in front of everyone.”

Leonard looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. “It was stupid. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“It wasn’t stupid, and you’re not wasting my time,” Paul said, his tone firm but kind. “You were clearly in distress. That’s what matters. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

The direct question hit Leonard like a physical blow. The carefully constructed walls inside him trembled. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He shook his head, tears welling up instantly, hot and shameful. He wiped at them angrily. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of him.

“It’s okay,” Paul said, his voice soft. “There’s no judgment here. This is a safe space.”

The words ‘safe space’ unlocked something. A sob escaped Leonard’s throat, harsh and ugly. He tried to stifle it, covering his face with his hands. He was humiliated. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

He heard a soft rustle. Paul had gotten up. He returned with a box of tissues and placed it on the small table beside Leonard’s chair. He didn’t try to touch him. He just sat back down and waited.

The simple, kind gesture broke him. The tears came then, a silent flood he couldn’t stop. He cried for the boy he had been, for the man he was now, for the loneliness, for the shame. He cried for ten years of silence. He grabbed a tissue, clutching it like a lifeline.

Paul sat quietly, letting the storm pass. The room was silent except for Leonard’s ragged breaths.

When the tears finally subsided, leaving him exhausted and hollow, Leonard risked a glance at Paul. The professor’s gaze was steady, filled with something that looked like… understanding. Not pity. Understanding.

“I…” Leonard’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t sleep. I have… bad dreams. And… the only thing that makes it stop… for a little while…” He couldn’t say it. The shame was too thick.

“The behavior you asked about in class,” Paul finished for him, his tone completely neutral. “It’s a coping mechanism, Leonard. A way your mind has found to deal with overwhelming anxiety. It’s not about morality. It’s about survival.”

Leonard stared at him. Survival. No one had ever described it that way. He had always thought of it as a moral failure, a disgusting habit. But survival… that sounded like something you couldn’t help. Something you did to stay alive.

“How long has this been going on?” Paul asked gently.

“A long time,” Leonard whispered. “Since I was thirteen.”

Paul’s eyes softened with a deep, genuine sadness. “That’s a very long time for a young man to carry such a heavy burden alone.”

The compassion in his voice was Leonard’s undoing. The story, or a small, sanitized part of it, spilled out. He talked about the constant anxiety, the feeling of being dirty, the fear of anyone getting close. He didn’t mention the specific trauma—that was a locked box he couldn’t open—but he talked about its effects. The isolation. The pain.

Paul listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer easy solutions. He just listened, and in that quiet, warm room, Leonard felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn’t even known he was carrying. For the first time in a decade, he had spoken his truth, and he hadn’t been met with disgust or dismissal.

When Leonard finally fell silent, spent and empty, Paul leaned forward slightly. “What you’re experiencing are classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress, Leonard. The nightmares, the hypervigilance, the avoidance, the compulsive behavior to self-soothe. It’s a treatable condition. You don’t have to live like this.”

Treatable. The word echoed in the quiet room. It sounded like a miracle.

“Would you be open to meeting with me regularly?” Paul asked. “We can work on some techniques to help you manage the anxiety, to process some of this pain. No pressure. It’s entirely your decision.”

The warning bells in Leonard’s head were faint now, drowned out by the overwhelming relief and the first flicker of real hope he had felt in years. This was a professional offering help. That’s all it was.

“Yes,” Leonard said, his voice firmer than it had been all day. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Good,” Paul smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “We’ll start next week. Same time?”

Leonard nodded, standing up on shaky legs. “Thank you, Professor Weston.”

“Paul is fine in here,” he said, walking Leonard to the door. “Get some rest, Leonard. You’ve been very brave today.”

As Leonard walked out into the cool evening air, he felt strangely light. The world seemed sharper, clearer. For the first time, there was a path forward. He had taken the first step.

He didn’t see the way Paul watched him leave, the professor’s gaze lingering on the closed door long after Leonard was gone. The professional mask had slipped, just for a second, revealing a look of deep, possessive satisfaction. The trap had been set. And the prey had walked right in.