The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the window of Leo’s small practice. On his desk sat a well-worn copy of It wasn't just a textbook to him; it was a map he consulted when the fog of other people’s pain became too thick to see through.
"It feels like everything is moving too fast to catch, doesn't it?" Leo said softly.
Sarah’s shoulders dropped an inch. "I feel like I'm screaming underwater," she whispered. "Everyone tells me to just swim to the surface, but I don't know which way is up."
Late that afternoon, Sarah sat across from him. She didn't speak at first. She just gripped her bag, her knuckles white, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an exit from her own skin.
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