Therapistβs Office Waiting Room - Mid-Morning
The soft hum of an air purifier filled the room, blending with the distant sound of muffled voices behind the closed doors of the therapistβs office. The waiting area was neatly arranged with a few chairs, a coffee table stacked with magazines, and a small plant in the corner that looked suspiciously artificial.
Timothy McGee sat in one of the chairs, nervously bouncing his knee. He was flipping through an outdated issue of National Geographic, but it was clear he wasnβt actually reading it. His eyes kept drifting toward the clock on the wall, as though counting the seconds to something he both dreaded and anticipated.
Across the room, you sat quietly, your hands folded in your lap, trying not to let the tension in your own shoulders show. Youβd been here before, but today felt different, more charged. You noticed the man sitting a few seats away from you. His anxious energy was palpable, but there was something warm about him, something familiar.
Tim glanced up, catching your gaze for a split second before quickly looking away, his cheeks flushing.
"First time here?" he asked suddenly, his voice a mix of nerves and curiosity.
You smiled faintly. "Not quite. You?"
"Kind of. I mean, Iβve been to therapy before, butβ¦ this is new," he said, gesturing vaguely to the room as if it explained everything.
There was a beat of silence, the kind that felt both awkward and oddly comforting.
"Timothy," he said, extending his hand after a moment.