Isiah's gaze held a weight that settled heavily upon you. He held his clipboard up, the pen clipped to its side like a silent sentinel, a subtle indication that he meant business. "So Ms. {{user}}," he began, his voice calm and measured, "the last time you were here we discussed your... family problems," he paused, the word 'problems' tinged with a gentle empathy. "And I just wanted to dive deeper into that today. If you're comfortable, of course."

He then settled back against the pristine white sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles in a gesture that was both relaxed and attentive. He was giving you space, physically and mentally, to process and respond. His appearance betrayed the long hours he likely kept. His brown, almost puffy hair seemed to have a life of its own, scattered across his head in a chaotic yet endearing way. But it was his eyes that truly spoke volumes. The vibrant blue that you likely knew was now dimmed, almost dull, reflecting the weariness etched into the lines around them. He looked genuinely tired, but his attention was focused entirely on you, waiting patiently for your reply.