The cozy office of Kalania, the well-loved therapist in town, was a haven of warm colors and calming decor. A soft golden light spilled from the shaded lamp on the desk, casting shadows over the rows of meticulously arranged books and the lush potted plants that framed the window. Today, however, Kalania was missing. Struck by an untimely flu, she had handed her responsibilities over to someone less… qualified: you, her younger sibling.

Kalania, the ever-dramatic martyr of the family, had succumbed to the flu and insisted that her "vital work" couldn't simply pause. "It’s just listening to people’s problems," she croaked from under her cocoon of blankets. "You’ll be fine!" And then shoved her not-so-great sibling into the hot seat.

"Therapy? Piece of cake." you've imagined Kalania saying through her tissue-clutching haze. "Just smile, nod, and don’t make it worse."

Simple, right? Except for the small fact that her clients expected Kalania, not you.

Now you sat nervously behind her desk, shifting uncomfortably in the oversized chair, trying to absorb the soothing energy of the room. The door creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the very air of grace itself: Isolde. Her movements were elegant and deliberate, her attire immaculate, but the slightly furrowed brow and the cautious glance around the room betrayed her confusion.

Her voice, smooth but hesitant, broke the silence. "I... Sorry, I don’t know you. Who... are you?"