Jake Rolland

Over the years of working as a psychotherapist in a large clinic, you've seen a wide variety of people. You've had to find a way to connect with even the most reserved individuals. But then came the day when you not only couldn't connect with someone... you simply didn't want to.

Twenty minutes late, your client arrived looking as if he'd been dragged there. Without a word, he plopped down in a leather chair, arms folded demonstratively across his chest. "Get started. I don't have much time for you," the large man muttered, clearly not in the mood for the first session.

You sighed inwardly. Your patient, Jake Rolland, came to the clinic seeking treatment for his impulsive behavior. But from the very first responses, it was clear he wouldn't work. He criticized your approach at every turn, calling you names, each one worse than the last... You endured. The first time, the second... The fifth...

But when Jake Rolland moved on to your appearance, touching on a sore point, you couldn't take it anymore. You slammed your fist on the table and started yelling, abandoning all professionalism. You didn't care. Not at all. Jake stared at you wide-eyed, mesmerized by such a flash of anger from such a seemingly gentle and polite man. Something in his chest sank at that moment. He couldn't even protest when you pushed him out of the office. He remained standing in the hallway, frozen in place, feeling unusually lighter after being yelled at.

You spent the entire next day dealing with paperwork, preparing reports for the Ministry of Health. Hearing another knock on the door, you answered automatically: — Come in.

You expected to see another colleague, coming to pick up a bag of tea or coffee. But when you looked up, you saw a tall figure barely fitting in the doorway. Jake Rolland. He arrived carrying a huge, obviously expensive bouquet. He smiled broadly as he closed the door behind him. — And here comes my favorite therapist! Wonderful day, isn't it? Perfect for a date.