Misplaced Confidence

It had been a week since Amina’s private session with Garrett, and his presence seemed to linger in every corner of her mind. She had tried to focus on her lessons and her responsibilities, but every time she saw him in class, her thoughts spiraled.

Oh God, the way he spoke to the others—that self-assurance, that quiet strength, that razor-sharp intelligence. She had reviewed his academic records. The grades were abysmal, a complete joke. But the tests? Perfect. Flawless. She had read through the ridiculous remarks from his past teachers—bitter, self-righteous activists who were no better than the "old white men" they claimed to oppose.

If Faisal had grades and talent like his, she thought bitterly, he’d be drowning in scholarship offers. Instead, my son spends his time holed up in his room, probably pleasuring himself to some harlot on that Only… whatever nonsense. I’ve seen the bills. That foolish boy.

Her thoughts snapped back to Garrett, her cheeks flushing at the memory of his voice, his confidence, the way he seemed to command respect without demanding it. She remembered how he silenced the room during group discussions, not by raising his voice, but through the sheer weight of his words. Even the most disruptive inmates paused to listen, their usual bravado faltering in his presence. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, with a calm authority that left no room for argument. Garrett didn’t just command respect; he inspired it, and Amina found herself captivated by the power he wielded without even trying. She crossed her legs tightly, her body betraying her growing fascination. A man like him… she thought, biting her lip. Garrett was everything Faisal wasn’t—strong, focused, disciplined.

She shook her head, her fingers trembling as she picked up her pen. Focus, she told herself. But the idea wouldn’t leave. She could see Garrett leading a company, commanding boardrooms, shaping the world with that sharp mind and unyielding confidence. She could guide him, mold him into something extraordinary. In ten years, he could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. What if I could be the one to make it happen? Her breath hitched as a forbidden fantasy crossed her mind. What if I were his mommy?

Amina stood and moved to the window, gazing out at the dimly lit yard. The inmates were shadows against the floodlights, their movements methodical and contained. Her fingers tightened against the windowsill. You’ve faced tougher challenges than this, she told herself. But the thought rang hollow. Garrett wasn’t just a challenge. He was a mirror, reflecting parts of her she wasn’t ready to face.

Dr. Amina Al-Farsi sat at her desk, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her notebook. The morning light filtered through the narrow windows of her office, casting faint patterns on the floor. She had spent the last hour reviewing the profiles of several inmates, but her thoughts kept circling back to one name: Garrett Silver.

Garrett intrigued her. He was intelligent, articulate, and surprisingly composed for someone in his position. Amina prided herself on her ability to read people, to uncover the layers beneath their carefully constructed masks. Yet with Garrett, she often found herself second-guessing. He was a challenge, and Amina thrived on challenges.

As she sipped her tea, her mind wandered to their previous conversations. Garrett had a way of steering discussions without overtly taking control. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she had noticed. She smiled faintly. You think you’re clever, she thought. But you’re not the only one who knows how to play games.

Her confidence was bolstered by her belief in her methods. She had dedicated her life to understanding human behavior, to using psychology as a tool for reform and rehabilitation. Garrett might be cunning, but Amina was certain she could guide him, shape him into someone better. Someone she could control.

Amina’s thoughts briefly drifted to her own past, to the mentors who had shaped her career. There was Dr. Hameed, who had taught her the importance of empathy in even the most challenging cases. His ability to connect with patients on a human level had inspired her to view rehabilitation as more than a clinical process. Then there was Professor Laila, whose sharp intellect and unwavering confidence had pushed Amina to pursue psychology in the first place. Laila had been relentless, demanding excellence and teaching Amina to never settle for mediocrity.

But as Amina thought of Garrett, she realized how different this was. Her mentors had shown her how to nurture potential, but Garrett wasn’t just potential—he was raw, unshaped energy. The question wasn’t just how to guide him, but whether she could harness that energy without being overwhelmed by it. For the first time, she wondered if her own methods, so carefully learned, might need to evolve to match the challenge he presented. She recalled her first case, a young man with a violent history who had turned his life around under her guidance. She had seen the potential in him when others had written him off, and she had been right. Garrett wasn’t so different, she decided. Beneath his sharp edges lay something malleable, something she could mold.

The small office room felt more intimate than usual as Amina entered, her notebook in hand. Garrett was already seated at the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and focused. He offered her a polite nod as she took her seat across from him.

“Good morning, Dr. Al-Farsi,” Garrett said, his voice smooth.

“Good morning, Mr. Silver,” Amina replied, her tone measured. She placed her notebook on the table, flipping to a fresh page. “How are you feeling today?”

Garrett leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. “Curious, mostly. I’ve been wondering about your methods. You seem so deliberate, as if every question is a key, every comment a tool. It’s fascinating, really.”

Amina arched an eyebrow. “My methods?”

“Yes,” Garrett said, his lips curling into a faint smile. “You seem to believe in structure, in discipline. But there’s also a certain warmth to your approach. It’s an interesting combination.”

Amina felt a flicker of satisfaction. His observation wasn’t wrong, and she appreciated the acknowledgment. “Structure and warmth aren’t mutually exclusive,” she said. “In fact, they’re most effective when used together.”

Garrett nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that. And do you think your methods would work on someone like me?”

Amina smiled. “I think they already are.”

The session unfolded with a measured rhythm. Garrett shared insights into his past, carefully choosing his words, while Amina probed deeper, her questions designed to reveal vulnerabilities. She felt a sense of control, a certainty that she was guiding the conversation, shaping its trajectory.

Yet, as the session progressed, Garrett’s tone shifted. At one point, his voice softened, almost contemplative. “You know, Doctor,” he began, “I never had a mother figure. I don’t even know who my biological mother is. I was always in the system.”

Amina tilted her head slightly. “No one adopted you?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Garrett’s lips twitched in a humorless smile. “Oh, plenty of couples wanted to adopt—just not me. They wanted the status symbol, a child who matched their image. Black, brown, anything that screamed ‘woke.’ Growing up in the system, you start to notice the patterns. Families looking to check a box, prove how progressive they are, but not actually interested in raising a kid for who they are. A white boy like me, with no tragedy to sell? I wasn’t worth the effort.” But me? A white boy with no sob story? I wasn’t worth their time.”

Amina felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite place. Pity? Guilt? Anger on his behalf? She placed her hand on the table, her fingers inching closer to his. “That must have been incredibly isolating.”

Garrett met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “It was. Maybe if I’d had someone to guide me, someone to believe in me, things would’ve turned out differently.”

Her hand hovered over his for a moment before she pulled it back, her cheeks flushing. “You’re not beyond guidance now,” she said softly. “You’re capable of so much more than your past suggests.”

Garrett leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And what about you, Doctor? Do you think you could’ve made a difference back then?”

The question hung in the air, and Amina felt her resolve waver. For the first time, she wondered if this was more than just a professional connection. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts: the firm boundaries she had built over years of practice, the professional detachment she had always maintained, and the strange pull she felt toward Garrett. Was it pity for the boy who had been abandoned by the system? Admiration for the man he had become despite it all? Or something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to name?

Her hand trembled as she wrote a note in the margins of her notebook, more to ground herself than to record anything meaningful. He’s just a subject, she told herself. A challenge. But even as she thought it, the tightness in her chest betrayed the lie. But she quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on her notes as the session continued, the unspoken tension lingering between them.