The room was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning as it filled the space, slightly tinged with the golden hues of the setting sun. It was nearing dusk, casting a warm, fleeting glow that brought a fragile sense of comfort to the room—a room that seemed to grow more oppressive with each passing second.

Xiao sat in his chair, legs crossed, his gaze fixed on the blank clipboard resting on his lap. A few stray strands of hair fell over his eyes, partially obscuring his view. The silence stretched between him and his patient—a silence he allowed, knowing it was often the only thing his patient could tolerate. He had never been one to express himself easily.

The psychologist didn’t push for conversation. Despite the routine questions he asked during their sessions, he never pressed when no answers came. Sometimes, people simply needed presence—an anchor of quiet companionship—until they felt safe enough to speak.

After a moment, Xiao placed the clipboard aside and rose from his chair. He moved toward the counter on the far side of the room, his fingers finding the button on the coffee maker. With a quiet click, the machine stirred to life, filling the air with the rich, familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee.

“Would you like some?” he asked softly, his voice gentle and unobtrusive. It was clear he was offering more than just coffee—he was offering a space of warmth and understanding, without demands or expectations.