[Therapy Office]
Stepping into the room felt like walking into a loving embrace. The upright piano greeted you first. Lined against the wall with a painting of flowers by Anna Landowska, hung on the exposed brick wall. The nook greeted you straight ahead from there. It was encircled with casement windows, which opened from the top, to allow fresh air inside. Two potted plants hung from the ceiling, overlooking the traffic below – that was somehow never heard inside. The nook's seating was cream in colour, and multiple cushions in shades of red, brown, and light pink, were sprawled on top. The nook looked out at the metropolis, from seven floors above ground; enough to keep you afloat from the bustling commotion and catch a glimpse of the skyline between the concrete jungle, but not high enough for that queasy isolation from the rest of the world.
The adjacent wall had a mahogany bookshelf filled neatly with books, a couple of decoration pieces, a vase of flowers, an oil burner that was always burning with either the smell of maple, vanilla, or pine. In front of the bookshelf, sat a clean, oak desk. Apart from a pen holder, a jar, and a candle pillar, the desk was bare. Behind it, sat a large, comfortable, patterned chair and behind it – another bookshelf. This one was bigger, and much fuller than the other – with the lower-half as a cabinet. Two paintings hung on either side of the shelf. One by Daniel Wall, and the other by Sam Chirnside.
To the right side of the desk, there was a chest of drawers - always noted last upon entering, even though it shared the same wall as the entrance door. The chest had an open space at the bottom and inside, was a neatly fitted, dark brown minifridge. On top of the chest was an electric plate, a coffee maker, and an electric kettle. Matching shelf brackets hung above, holding – intriguingly – a few sets of basic silverware and a couple of pots. Next to the entrance door itself, sat an easel with a fitted, blank canvas – ever-ready for use.
In the very middle of the room and a few feet in front of the desk, was the tufted ottoman sofa, decorated with two, accent cushions. The sofa itself matched the desk chair in its faded crystal velvet, and of course – in being heaven to sit on.
The chest of drawers to her right always drew curious stares from Jackie's visitors. No one expected a make-shift kitchenette in a therapy office; she hadn't intended on making on either. When she first moved in, she was eager for a space that felt like her own. Back then, she was sharing a tiny loft with two other people and having a spacious place all to herself, was all she had ever wanted. So of course, she got carried away.
For the first couple of months, Jackie spent extra time at her office just to decorate the place. It had taken her almost a year to finally fall in love with every aspect of the room, and all that it held. She had spent weekends browsing thrift store art, polishing furniture, and collecting enchanting trinkets that struck her fancy.
The room had gone through shifts and transformations, reflecting who she was during that time. Beginning with her overwhelming excitement over her professional practice taking off (and her new, personal office), she had cluttered the place with decoration pieces – frames with pressed flowers, intricate jewellery boxes, mismatched cushions cluttering the sofa and the floor, an abundance of plants, and a red, heart-shaped mirror. It had ended on a sophisticated – yet cosy transformation – opting instead for a minimalist and open structure. One that allowed anyone to walk about the room freely and invited an open flow for thoughts – not distracted with ornaments, clutter, or a wide array of colours. It was a silent and free space. Peaceful, comforting, and stable. Jackie felt at home here.
It wasn't that she was no longer the same person as she was before, no. The tiny plants had found space in her own kitchen now; the cushions went on her bed, and the pressed flower frames and mirror – on her home wall. The jewellery trinkets and other ornate pieces – well they had to go back to the thrift stores. Therefore, it wasn't Jackie who had really changed, but her perception.
The office was not simply her haven. It was meant for her patients, or whoever walked into the room. A place where they could feel at home. A space not defined entirely by her, but for people to bring to it what they felt. Her personal journey had been tumultuous to say the least, but she was grateful for where she was right now, even if she didn't know where she would end up. In a way, the office mirrored that seamlessly. A dimension of calmness and serenity. Clean and quiet. A soothing atmosphere was exactly what she was looking for, and she would feel her head clear up by just letting her mind wander over the details in the room. The paintings, the brick wall, the shelves. She could only hope her patients felt the same way.
The kitchenette had been born out of hunger pangs, and a love for food. Jackie wasn't the best cook, but she had never underestimated the astral power that a warm meal could do for the mind, body and soul. In emotionally distressing sessions, she had found that food was a wonderfully subtle comfort for many patients (as well as herself). With their consent, Jackie would put on the electric kettle while they talked. Along with an assortment of herbal tea flavours, there was also hot chocolate and coffee. Adding ramen to her snack collection was a warning sign. After that came the electric plate and the second-hand mini-fridge Jackie had painted herself. It was very convenient to simply bring over her own leftovers to the office for lunch, or for offering to her patients. She was proud to discover that her peanut-butter and chocolate brownies were a big hit.
I really wanted to set the scene before starting the story, so I'll upload the first chapter along with this. I don't plan to make it a very plot-centric story, instead revolving more around character arcs, conversations and feelings. But let's see where it goes! I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!