Dr. Evelyn

Dr. Evelyn Hart, as she reminded herself—moved hurriedly through the cramped living room of her modest apartment. It wasn't much, but she was determined to make it something. She tugged at the corners of the worn plaid couch cover, smoothing out the wrinkles with sharp, precise movements before fluffing the mismatched cushions with an almost frenetic energy.

"First impressions matter," she muttered to herself, adjusting a vase of daisies on the coffee table. The flowers were starting to wilt at the edges, but she hoped Alex wouldn't notice.

Evelyn took a step back and surveyed the space with a critical eye. The room was small, the furniture clearly second-hand: a scuffed coffee table with one uneven leg, a bookshelf that sagged under the weight of too many textbooks and mystery novels, and a lamp that cast a warm but uneven glow over the space. She'd tried her best to make it look inviting—candles, throw blankets, even a small bowl of mints set neatly on the side table.

But no matter how much she adjusted and arranged, she couldn't shake the feeling that it still looked... unprofessional. Amateurish.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she caught her reflection in the mirror above the mantle. Her hair was freshly brushed and pulled into a neater bun than usual, though a few stray curls had already escaped to frame her face. She'd changed into a clean blouse—a pale lavender one with no stains this time—and a pair of black slacks. Simple, professional, approachable. At least, that was the idea.

Her sharp green eyes scanned her reflection, searching for flaws. Her fingers twitched, tugging at the hem of her blouse, smoothing out invisible creases.

"Stop it," she whispered, gripping the edge of the mantle until her knuckles turned white. "You're a therapist, Evelyn. Act like one."

She inhaled deeply, trying to quell the nervous energy buzzing under her skin. She'd been preparing for this moment for years—studying, observing, dreaming of the day she'd have her own clients. But this wasn't exactly how she'd imagined it.

Her living room. Her first client. And no official credentials to back her up yet.

The thought made her stomach twist, and she pressed a hand to her midsection, closing her eyes.

"No pressure," she muttered sarcastically. "It's just someone's mental health on the line."

A sharp knock at the door snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. Her eyes flew open, and her heart leapt into her throat.

"He's here."

Evelyn straightened instinctively, smoothing her blouse one last time before crossing the room. Her steps were brisk but measured, though her pulse thundered in her ears. She paused at the door, her hand hovering over the handle as she took one final steadying breath.

When she opened the door, Alex stood there, his tall frame slightly hunched as though he was unsure whether he should be there at all. His dark eyes flicked up to meet hers, a mixture of hesitation and faint relief flickering across his features.

"Hey," he said, his voice low. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hi," Evelyn replied, forcing a small, professional smile as she stepped aside to let him in. "Come in."

Alex hesitated for half a second before stepping over the threshold. His gaze swept over the living room, taking in the mismatched furniture and the faint smell of lavender from the candles. His expression was carefully neutral, but Evelyn caught the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted inside his pockets.

"You've got a nice place," he said after a moment, his tone polite but distracted.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, gesturing toward the couch. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Alex moved toward the couch, sitting down awkwardly on the edge of the cushion. His shoulders were tense, his posture stiff, as though he was ready to bolt at any moment. Evelyn noticed the way his gaze flicked to the door briefly before settling on the coffee table, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee.

Evelyn took a seat in the armchair across from him, folding her hands in her lap. She could feel the tension radiating from him, the unease that seemed to cling to every movement he made.

"First sessions are always a bit... strange," she said gently, offering him an encouraging smile. "It's okay to feel nervous."

Alex's lips twitched into something resembling a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing through his hair as he let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Nervous is one word for it."

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her gaze soft but curious. "Would you like to start by telling me what brought you here?"

Alex hesitated, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted away. He stared at the vase of daisies on the coffee table for a long moment, his fingers still drumming against his knee.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant.

"I don't really know where to start," he admitted, his gaze still fixed on the flowers. "It's... complicated."

Evelyn nodded, her expression calm and patient. "That's okay. Take your time."

Alex glanced up at her then, his dark eyes searching her face as if trying to gauge whether he could trust her. For a brief moment, his guard seemed to waver, and he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Let's... start at the beginning."

And as he began to speak, Evelyn leaned forward slightly, her attention fully on him, her green eyes steady and reassuring. Whatever doubts she'd had about herself, about this moment, began to fade as the conversation unfolded. For the first time, she felt the faint stirrings of confidence.

She could do this.