She didn’t react, just sat in the silence and let it stretch, giving me space to answer. She was the pinnacle of patience.
“He’s... important to me,” I said honestly, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “He makes this place feel lighter. Like it isn’t just group therapy sessions and counting days.” I fiddled with the hem of my T-shirt. “We talk a lot about the shit we like. About what scares us.”
She nudged her glasses higher on her nose. “How does it feel to leave him behind?”
“Hard,” I murmured. “I think he’s scared he’ll end up back here. Or that he’ll disappear entirely.” My throat tightened. “And I hate that I can’t fix it for him.”
“But?” she prompted gently.
“But I know I can’t stay for him.” I swallowed. “I care about him. I really do. But we’re meant to walk out of this place on our own.”
Dr Williams hummed. “That sounds like a healthy understanding.”
“I hope so,” I said quietly. “I’ll miss him. He’s become a really good friend, and I just... I hope he believes what I see in him. That he’s stronger than he thinks.”
“And what do you believe about yourself, Bodhi?”
The question caught me off guard.
I thought about the quiet mornings here. Time spent in the music room. Afternoons by the lake or wandering the gardens with no urgency. The way my chest no longer felt permanently clenched, like I was bracing for impact.
“I think,” I said slowly, meeting her gaze. “That I’m allowed to want a good life. Not just a successful one.”
She rested her elbow on the armrest, chin propped on her fist. “That’s a powerful realisation to leave with.”
I exhaled, and something loosened in my ribs.
Dr Williams stood, and I followed her lead.
“Okay, one last thing,” she said. “What are you hoping for when you walk out that door today?”
I pictured the drive away from the Willow. The world waiting beyond the gates. Reuniting with my friends. For a brief moment, my thoughts drifted to the person I was leaving behind, but I pushed them away. There wasn’t room for that now, not if I wanted to move forward. I couldn’t carry everything with me.
“I want to stay sober,” I said firmly. “I want to make music that means something. And I want to keep the parts of myself that I found here, even when life gets loud.”
She opened the door and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. “That sounds like a solid foundation.”
Just before stepping through, I turned back. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Is it okay,” I whispered. “To care about someone even if you’re not meant to stay in their life?”
Her expression softened. “Some people are chapters, Bodhi. They change the story, even if they don’t stay until the end.”
I nodded, letting the words settle deep in my chest.
When I stepped into the corridor, the Willow felt different. Not like a cage or a hiding place. Just somewhere I’d passed through. A moment in time that would linger, not because I was trapped there, but because it mattered.
Now it was time to say goodbye.
I entered the foyer of the Willow to find Iggy perched on the front desk, chatting animatedly with one of the intake administrators. I thought her name was Amanda. She must’ve said something funny, because Iggy tipped his head back and laughed. The sound rang out bright and musical, echoing up towards the high ceiling and skittering across the tiled floors.
At the sound of my footsteps, his head snapped in my direction. His eyes flicked from my face to the suitcase at my side. I watched his chest rise sharply, like he’d taken a sudden breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Amanda followed his gaze and grinned.
“Ah, Bodhi,” she said, her high-pitched voice cutting straight through my skull. “All ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Dr Williams said there was a form I needed to fill out before leaving?”
