A meek counselor of olive and beige sat in his righteous throne of leather and cotton, his gaze piercing through the unpierceable memories of whom was named Julius. His hands display the concentration that he is trying as he tries not to discourage the heart of the poor child. His emerald irises traversed the pitch white “cell,” to which people found the necessity to have a round of counseling find it a bit scary. Poor Julius never seems to understand that the counselor’s intentions are pure as the shade of the room brightly spoke.

“Fret not, Julius, my dear,” solaced the counselor. “It’s alright.” In adagio, he rubbed his innocent hands to the man’s hand as he tried to comfort  him. Julius took his eyes away from the sight of the counselor and into the strangeness of the unknown, beseeching the dire need to leave the pure white room. The counselor, of youthful etherealness like a peacock showing off his dazzling colors, stared at the sight of a young, lost soul. The counselor admits it: seeing Julius want to leave the counselor’s own little makeshift world shatters his once-rock heart.

It’s just that, Julius didn’t trust him. Despite all the soft and comforting demeanor, the counselor is resonating, Julius couldn’t shake the feeling that, beneath those, all lay the verdict that Julius is a bad person. He felt too ashamed of all his past actions, dreading the counselor would judge him should he know the truth.

“I want to go away from this place.” In anger, Julius flicked the counselor’s hand and tried to escape this chamber of what could have been his demise. Shocked as to what happened, in vivace presto, the counselor stood from his seat and suddenly grabbed Julius by the wrist.

“But your session is yet to end, Julius. Come, please take a seat first before anything else.” Julius tried to escape from the grip of the counselor, but it was no use; he was stronger than him. “If you want to discuss something, I’m here to listen. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Listen, my foot! Is it really because you’re a counselor that you try and stop your patients from wanting anything they want?” There was silence reigning the whole of the room, just like it always has been. Silence.

Julius looked at him, desperate to leave this hellish room, but the counselor froze in place. He seemed perplexed about what Julius had averred to him. Not that the counselor had been surprised by it, but rather, he was surprised by how Julius shed a tear that he did not know was already falling out from his eyes. Of all the times they have been together, this is the first time he saw him snivel his heart out of desperation. Julius was never a crybaby to begin with, so what went wrong this time?

The counselor in pianissimo lowered his guard and liberated his grip over him. He went back to his seat and stared at him in naivety.

“No one,” the counselor started as he crossed his fingers, acting as his headrest, “well, no one’s stopping anybody. If anything, you went in this white cell all on your own, without anyone—or anything for that matter—stopping you from doing so.” The counselor started playing with the black fountain pen that he saw on his table, twirling it as if his focus wasn’t on Julius’s. “So, sit down, and we’ll discuss all of that years-old skeletons inside your weevilled wooden closet.” He stopped twirling the pen and placed it back on the table with all the authority he might have while looking at Julius. The latter, while dreadfully exuding his desire to escape, had no choice but to sit in front of him while he watched himself spilling all the beans on the floor. It’s for his own good, the counselor told himself.

“For a meek counselor like you always advertise, you’re arrogant.”

“I’m only reflecting what others do upon me. I don’t act like this often.”

Julius tried to speak up for himself but caught on to his guard and shut his mouth before he could say anything. He glimpsed away at the counselor in his embarrassment; he had just proven the counselor right by the way he acted a while ago. “Sorry” is the only word that came out of his mouth, and it was as shaky as an earthquake. The counselor smiled and again relaxed his senses; he didn’t want this kid to walk out the door without finishing seeking help, although ironically, his physically grabbing Julius could undermine the one thing he wanted to show: his desire to provide a safe space for the kid to let all those emotions out.

The counselor got up from his chair and marched his way to the radio, opened it, and there, the Clarinet Concerto in A Major K. 622, 2nd movement: Adagio by Mozart played, hitting a soft spot in Julius’s heart as the adagio’s soft clarinets came piercing like a dagger. “This piece is something I use to soothe people’s hearts. It helps me bring those feelings out from my clients.” He went to the window beside the radio and stood there, looking at the Golden Gate Bridge, seeing another person falling from it to the sea. How sad, thought the counselor, but it’s not within the scope of his reach even if he wants to.

“I . . . I still like him.”

The counselor froze for a second and slowly looked at Julius. Lo and behold, Julius’s heart came pouring like a waterfall, finally falling to the ground where it should be. He smiled, for he knew that once the valve goes open, it will not shut. He went back to his seat and looked Julius in the eye, where the latter had quickly glimpsed away. “Still like who, Julius?”

The name is at the tip of Julius’s tongue, but somehow, he couldn’t find the strength to say his name. After everything I did, Julius said to himself, do I have the right to say his name? He looked at the counselor’s muddy brown eyes, and all that he could see was the sincerity of the man to help him sort himself out. At last, in decrescendo he blurted, “Venti.”

“Venti. Oh, that sweet innocent child. I couldn’t see any reason why someone wouldn’t like him,” the counselor commented and smiled. “The poor kid suffered enough, yet still gives off that smile. As though a broken waltz time signature. Don’t you think?”

“I . . . I know it’s my fault for pushing his limits. I know he suffered unnecessarily because of my stupid action, but I,” Julius wailed. Tears started falling from the youth’s eyes, and out of this heavy feeling he was carrying right now. “I don’t know how I can even be forgiven for doing such horrible thing.” He caressed his shoulders, lifted his knees, and stepped on the chair he was sitting in. “I just—I am a horrible person, and I—”

The counselor smiled bitterly. Julius was right when he said that, and the counselor knew it. “But it’s never too late, Julius. It never is, never was, and never will be.” He got up again in his chair and sat on the table before sighing. “Anyone can be horrible in someone else’s story. It’s how you prove them who you are.” The counselor looked Julius in the eye and patted his head. Julius was caught off guard by this, but he let it slide. “You, like Venti, are a broken waltz time signature. But even a broken time signature can be beautiful with the right music and instrument.”

Julius was determined to find that right music and instrument.