Once we got there, I stared at the building.
Neither of us moved, as if both of us were waiting for the other to step out first.
I decided to be that person, since Seo-Jun doesn’t really have good mories of going to the therapist.
"So," I said, forcing a playful smirk. "Here we are."
His eyes slid toward , slow and observant.
"Here we are," he echoed, not so enthusiastic about this whole thing.
I was the one going to et the therapist but it felt like he was the one getting dragged to speak about his whole life story.
I reached for the door handle but my hand froze mid-air as Seo-Jun’s hand sped past mine and opened the door.
"I got it." He said and I nodded.
Getting out of the car and walking one step at a ti, I felt my heart racing and pounding through my ribcage like it wanted to get out.
I was about to walk into the building when I paused, my feet pausing in place as my heart began to race even harder.
I whispered, barely audible,
"What if she asks sothing I can’t answer?"
"Then," he said, placing his warm palm over mine, "You just tell her what you can. And what you can’t... You tell her when you’re ready. It’s not that hard."
His voice wasn’t teasing, but it sure sounded like he was ’just sayin’ since it wasn’t so easy for him.
The fact that he was trying to comfort despite knowing how hard it was made even more scared.
But I nodded, because if I didn’t move now, I never would.
The hallway was quiet, except for the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
The receptionist smiled, polite and sunny—too sunny. It almost seed suspicious.
"This way, Hwang Jo-Pil," she said, and it startled —hearing my na here, inside this unfamiliar place.
I looked at Seo-Jun who shrugged. Seed like he had already given them my na when he made the reservation.
The door opened, and I stepped into a room that looked nothing like the dramatic therapy offices you see in movies—no dim lighting, no intimidating desk, no strict posture leather chair where the patient sits and gets their whole life sucked out of them.
It was just... warm and soft, like a borrowed living room.
Books lined shelves, not arranged perfectly, but touched, clearly used. A small plant sat by the window, leaning toward sunlight like it was desperate for a quiet conversation of its own.
And there she was. My therapist. Dr. Hye-Marin.
About mid-thirties, maybe, glasses sliding down her nose, hair tied back in a loose bun that scread ’I had a long morning, but we’re still surviving.’ She wasn’t beautiful in a sharp, scene-stealing way—she had the kind of face you trust without realizing why.
She stood as I entered.
"Hello, Jo-Pil." Her voice wasn’t soft—it was gentle and steady... Easy to talk to, just like I asked for. "I’m glad you ca."
She didn’t tell sothing like, It’s nice to et you or I hope you’re prepared. It was just that I’m glad you ca, as if she knew I’d run from this session the mont I saw a chance.
It was a bit awkward, because I didn’t know if to say hello or hi, what should I even do with my hands?
"H-hi," I replied with a stiff bow that felt outdated even to myself.
She motioned to the couch. I sat, awkwardly, as though the furniture had delicate emotions I might offend.
Seo-Jun remained outside as agreed. I heard the faint click of the door behind sealing my fate and I gulped.
So, it begins.
"So," she began as she settled into a single armchair opposite , not too close, not too far, "I want you to know that there isn’t a right or wrong way to begin. We go at your pace."
She crossed one leg over the other, relaxed.
"Now tell ," she said, tilting her head slightly, "...what made you decide to co today, instead of yesterday... or next month... or never?"
It was such a simple question, and yet it felt so complex, like I had to do multiple math equations to find the answer.
My fingers dug into my knees.
Despite the question being so complex in my head, I had already co up with an answer. An answer that depicted my entire situation.
I opened my mouth to speak—
I don’t know how to keep pretending I’m fine. I’m tired. I want to stop running. I want to forget. I want to embrace. I...
—but none of those were words that left my mouth.
So, I closed my mouth and I swallowed them back.
It was hard to get the words out. But I have to. Sothing... I need to say sothing.
"Because... I got tired," I said instead.
Her eyes didn’t narrow, and she didn’t lean forward dramatically. She just nodded—once, slowly.
"Being tired can an a lot of things," she said. "Tired in your body? Tired of soone? Tired of yourself? Or tired of the life you’re currently living?"
She wasn’t guessing. It felt like she was seeing right through and showing four doors I could open.
Whichever I had the courage to open would lead to an answer.
I stared at the floor.
"Tired... of carrying everything," I murmured. "Tired of keeping certain parts of myself hidden."
She took a short note—nothing long enough to be scary, just acknowledging.
"That sounds very heavy," she said. "How long have you been carrying these parts alone?"
"...A long ti," I answered with a murmur.
"Since childhood?" she asked softly but my eyes darted awkwardly towards the floor, my heart racing.
"My first life," I whispered.
The words sat on the back of my tongue like a taboo. Was this the right thing to do? Won’t she think I’m crazy?
Though I had said sothing unbelievable, she did not gasp or pry. Rather, she said...
"People who carry weight that long," she said, "...usually build a way of surviving. Humor, distance, caretaking, charm... Does any of that sound familiar?"
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