“I don’t think I’m getting better,” Ian said, his voice low and steady, though his fingers tapped nervously against the armrest of the leather chair. He didn’t look at Dr. Walsh, instead staring at the faint crack in the ceiling above. “I keep doing the things you tell me not to do. I can’t stop.”

Dr. Walsh adjusted her glasses, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders as she leaned forward slightly. She wore a fitted blouse that hinted at her curves, though her posture was all business. Her sharp green eyes studied him, not missing the tension in his jaw or the way his leg bounced under the coffee table. “Progress isn’t linear, Ian,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “You’re here. That’s a step.”

Ian finally looked at her, his gaze lingering a moment too long on the way her lips curved into a reassuring smile. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Yeah, but what if I’m just wasting your time? What if I’m… stuck like this forever?” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away again, his cheeks flushing. Dr. Walsh tilted her head, her expression softening as she reached for her notebook. “Let’s talk about why you think that,” she said, her pen poised. “And maybe we’ll find out you’re not as stuck as you think.”