I didn’t know I could get used to the smell of green tea and old newspaper, but Dr. Freeman’s office had a way of wrapping itself around me like an old quilt, worn but warm. I have already had three sessions with him, and frankly, I was beginning to enjoy our meetings.
I sat in my usual chair by the wide window, my knees drawn up, my hands laced together so tightly my knuckles felt like bone pebbles. Outside, the city carried on with its noise; horns blaring, voices of pedestrians and the distant hum of traffic, but inside Dr. Freeman's office the world was slowed down.
He was watching me in that patient way of his, always waiting for me to speak first, never pushing for answers. His pen rested in the crease of his notebook, as if even it was taking a break.
“So,” he said,his voice low,
