22/07/2025
The Cappuccino That Didn't Taste Right - Nenad Bakaj
On the small round table in the corner of my room, everything was ready. Tissues stood in their box, silent witnesses to the emotions that often find refuge here. Beside them a bottle of fresh water and a few paper cups. But what I had prepared especially was the cappuccino. My client loves it. I knew it would do him good after a hard week. He’d sent a message yesterday: “See you at the usual time.” And I was here, as I always am.
First ten, then fifteen minutes passed. I kept glancing at the door, listening for any sound in the hallway. But nothing. My phone stayed quiet. No message, no excuse, no sign.
In that moment, I felt the familiar mix: disappointment, quiet concern, and that uncomfortable tension of having to charge for something that didn’t happen. But the policy is clear – 50% of the session fee, unless there's a good reason.
I don’t like “punishing” clients. I never see it as punishment. But time is a resource, just like space, and the energy I invest to be present, prepared, and supportive.
I sat in the armchair where the client usually sits. Picked up the cappuccino. It was still warm, with a soft layer of foam on top. But somehow, it had no taste. Or maybe I just couldn’t taste it. Because it wasn’t meant for me. It was a gesture of care, a small sign of safety and acceptance. And now, it was just a bitter reminder of uncertainty and silence.
I wonder if the client is okay. Maybe something happened. That’s always my first thought. Not as an excuse but out of concern. Because I work with adolescents, young adults, and older people who sometimes carry more pain than they can put into words.
And as I drank the cappuccino, now cold and without its usual comforting flavor, I knew one thing: my work isn’t just in sessions. It’s in waiting, in paying attention, in understanding – even when the door remains closed.
