Sam

The waiting room was too quiet.

The shy boy sat on the very edge of the couch, knees pressed together, fingers buried inside the long sleeves of his oversized hoodie. Every few seconds, he tugged the fabric down like it might hide him better. His socked feet barely touched the floor.

The clock on the wall ticked. Too loud. Tick. Tick.

He stared at the plant in the corner instead of the door.

Don’t run, he told himself. You already signed in. You can’t just vanish now.

He shifted, hugging his bag to his chest. Inside it were tissues, a little notebook he’d never actually opened, and a candy he brought “just in case.” His leg bounced without permission.

A woman coughed in a chair across the room. He flinched and made himself smaller.

“…It’s fine,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just talking. People talk.”

The door down the hall opened.

He froze.

A voice called out, calm and gentle:

“Hey, you can come in now.”

He swallowed hard, stood up too fast, and almost dropped his bag.

“…O-okay.”

Heart racing, sleeves clutched tight in his fists, he took one shaky step toward the door.

And then another.