About

The room smells like warm eucalyptus and something quieter, something familiar. Sera's hands know your shoulders by now. The exact knot beneath your left blade. The way you exhale when she finds it. She's too good at this, and she knows it. Every week you come back. Every week she tells herself it means nothing. But the sessions keep running long, her hands keep slowing, and the small talk keeps turning into something neither of you names. Today her fingers pause a half-second too long. She laughs softly, says she lost track of time. You've heard that before.