Still Waiting

The therapist’s office smelled faintly of coffee and lavender, and somewhere behind me, a clock ticked steadily against the silence, each second feeling louder than my own breathing.

“When was the first time you remember feeling alone?” the therapist asked softly.

The ticking pulled me backward, back to when I was eight years old, sitting at the kitchen table while my parents screamed at each other from the next room.

The floors creaked as the yelling grew closer. I always worried the floor would cave in beneath our feet. The trailer we lived in was barely holding itself together.

My parents shouted on either side of me, neither of them acknowledging I was there, at least not until I got in the way of whatever they were throwing. Then they would yell at me to get out.

It was a weekly occurrence. They would fight, things would turn violent, and I would spend the night outside waiting for it to end.

I remember walking down the street alone, wondering when the screaming would stop and when I could finally sneak back inside and lie down.

“Gabriella?” Dr. Gallagher asked gently.

I blinked, forcing myself back into the office.

“I guess it started when my parents would fight and kick me out of the house because of it.”

“You learned very early that home wasn’t a place where you felt safe,” Dr. Gallagher said quietly.

I stared at my hands. Safe wasn’t a word I used often. I wasn’t sure I even knew what it felt like.

“I guess I just learned to stay out of the way,” I said. “It was easier that way. If I were quiet enough, maybe things wouldn’t get worse.”

Dr. Gallagher didn’t rush to respond. She let the silence sit for a moment, like she was giving me space to hear my own words.

“And how did that affect you later on?” she asked.

I swallowed. That was harder to answer.

“I don’t really know how to… ask for things,” I admitted. “Even now. I just kind of figure I’ll handle everything on my own.”

The clock ticked again.

“Even when it’s too much?” she asked.

I gave a small, humorless laugh. “Especially then.”

The words hung in the air longer than I meant them to.

Dr. Gallagher nodded once. “That makes sense. When you grow up having to handle everything alone, it can feel unsafe to rely on anyone later on, too.”

I looked away, my eyes drifting to the window. Outside, people walked past as if their lives were simple, as if they didn’t have to think about every step.

“That’s kind of how college feels,” I admitted quietly.

Dr. Gallagher tilted her head slightly. “Tell me about that.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t planned on going there. It just slipped out.

“It’s not bad,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I’m there on a scholarship. I should be grateful. And I am. I guess it just… feels like I’m always waiting for something to go wrong.”

I paused, then added, “Like I’m not supposed to be there.”

The therapist stayed quiet, letting me continue at my own pace.

“Everyone else just… knows how to be there,” I said. “They talk, they have friends, they ask for help when they need it. I don’t really know how to do any of that. I keep my head down and get through it.”

I let out a slow breath.

“It’s like I left home, but I never actually left that feeling of being on my own.”

The clock ticked once. Then again.

“That’s important,” Dr. Gallagher said gently. “Can you tell me what that feels like day to day?”

I opened my mouth to answer.

But the sound of the ticking changed. It wasn’t steady anymore. It turned into something sharper, faster, like footsteps on pavement.

I blinked.

The smell of coffee and lavender was gone.

Instead, there was cold air filling my lungs and the sound of voices everywhere at once.

I was standing on a college campus.

People brushed past me in groups, laughing, talking like they already knew where they belonged. Backpacks bumped against my shoulders as I stood still on the sidewalk, holding a schedule I had checked five times already to make sure I wasn’t wrong.

My name was on the scholarship list. I was here. I was supposed to be here.

But my feet still felt like they didn’t belong on the ground.

I stepped forward slowly, following signs I barely understood, pretending I wasn’t counting every person who looked like they had it all figured out.

Someone called out a name behind me, laughing with their friends. I kept walking anyway.

Keep your head down. Get through it.

That thought came automatically, like it had lived in me for years.

I tightened my grip on my backpack strap and kept moving toward the building ahead, already wondering how long it would take before someone realized I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I was still standing outside the building, staring at the door like it might reject me, when someone bumped lightly into my shoulder.

“Sorry,” a voice said.

I stepped aside quickly. “No, it’s fine.”

But instead of walking away, the girl paused.

“You new?” she asked.

I hesitated. New felt too simple for what I was. “Yeah,” I said finally.

She smiled like that answered everything. “Same. First day for me too. I’m Mia.”

I nodded once. “Gabriella.”

There was a short silence. I expected her to leave, to find whoever she actually came here with. But she didn’t move.

“Do you know where building B is?” she asked, glancing at her phone. “I’ve walked past this fountain like four times already, and I’m starting to think it’s messing with me on purpose.”

That pulled something almost like a laugh out of me before I could stop it. “I think it’s over there,” I said, pointing without fully committing to being right.

“Perfect,” she said, like I’d given her exact coordinates instead of a guess. Then she looked at me again. “Wanna walk together? I’m clearly not winning this solo.”

I should’ve said no. I usually did things alone. It was safer that way. Easier.

But standing there, watching people already forming groups like it came naturally to them, I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

We started walking, and for a while, neither of us said much. It should’ve felt awkward. Instead, it just felt… less heavy.

After a minute, Mia glanced at me again. “You seem like you’ve got your life together,” she said casually.

That almost made me stop walking.

I let out a short breath. “I don’t think that’s true.”

She shrugged. “Most people don’t think it’s true about themselves.”

I didn’t answer right away. That wasn’t something I’d ever considered.

When we reached the building, she held the door open without thinking.

“You’re probably fine, by the way,” she said as we stepped inside. “Everyone looks lost in the first week. Some people are just better at hiding it.”

I looked at her then, really looked like she wasn’t judging me, just existing next to me.

“Maybe,” I said quietly.

And for the first time that day, I didn’t immediately assume I was wrong for being there.

After that first day, I told myself I probably wouldn’t see Mia again.

College was too big for that. People came and went. Conversations didn’t usually stick.

But the next morning, I found her sitting outside the same building, balancing a coffee in one hand and scrolling through her phone, as she’d always been there.

She looked up when she saw me.

“Hey,” she said like it was normal. “You survived day one?”

I almost said yes automatically, like I always did. I was fine. I was always fine.

But something about the question made it feel less like a test and more like a choice.

“Yeah,” I said instead. “Barely.”

She smiled. “That counts.”

Without asking, she shifted over on the bench.

There was space. Enough space that I could’ve kept walking. Kept doing what I always did. Staying separate and staying safe.

Instead, I sat down.

It felt strange, like I was breaking a rule I didn’t know I had been following.

Mia didn’t make a big deal out of it. She just nodded toward my backpack.

“You have morning classes too?” she asked.

I checked my schedule again, even though I already knew it. “Yeah.”

“Same,” she said. “We’re probably going to keep accidentally ending up in the same chaos then.”

I let out a small breath of air that might’ve been a laugh again.

Over the next few days, it kept happening.

Running into her outside the buildings. Sitting near her in lectures without planning to. Eating lunch at the same table, even when I told myself I was just there “for a minute.”

And every time, she talked like I didn’t need to prove anything.

One afternoon, I was staring at an assignment I didn’t understand, convinced I should figure it out alone like I always did.

Mia leaned over without hesitation.

“You look like you’re about to fight that paper,” she said.

“I am,” I muttered.

She tilted her head. “Or… you could just ask for help.”

I froze a little at that.

Asking for help wasn’t something I did. It wasn’t even really a thought. It was just something I avoided.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Mia didn’t argue. She just looked at me for a second.

Then she said, “You don’t have to be fine all the time, you know.”

That sentence sat in the air longer than I expected.

I didn’t respond right away. Not because I didn’t hear her, but because I did.

And I didn’t know what to do with it.

Finally, I said quietly, “I’m not used to… not doing things alone.”

Mia nodded, like that made perfect sense. “Yeah,” she said. “But you don’t have to keep doing everything the way you survived. You’re not there anymore.”

That word stuck.

Survived.

Not lived. Not existed. Survived.

I looked back down at the assignment, but for the first time, I didn’t feel completely stuck inside my own head.

“Okay,” I said after a moment.

It wasn’t a promise to change everything.

But it was the first time I didn’t immediately shut the door on someone trying to stand next to me.

I shook my head. The therapist’s office was the same as before: coffee, lavender, the steady clock.

But I didn’t feel fully inside it.

“I think I’m starting to notice how much I don’t trust things,” I said. “Or people. Or even good moments.”

Dr. Gallagher nodded slightly. “What makes you say that?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the image came back too fast.

A crowded campus walkway. Voices overlapping. Mia was walking beside me like it was normal for someone to stay.

You don’t have to be fine all the time.

I blinked.

The office came back into focus. The couch was beneath me. The clock kept ticking.

I swallowed and tried again.

“At college,” I said more slowly, “there’s this girl. She talks to me like I belong there.”

My fingers tightened together in my lap.

“And I keep waiting for it to stop. Like I’m waiting for someone to realize I’m not supposed to be there.”

Dr. Gallagher stayed quiet, giving me space.

The memory flickered again.

Mia is holding the door open without hesitation and sitting beside me like I wasn’t temporary.

You’re not there anymore.

I pressed my thumb into my palm and forced myself to stay in the room this time.

“That used to make sense,” I said. “At home. Things never stayed calm for long. If it was quiet, it usually meant something worse was coming.”

The clock ticked.

Loud. Present. Real.

I focused on it.

“Now even when things are okay,” I continued, “I don’t feel okay. I feel like I’m waiting.”

My voice softened.

“Like I’m waiting for everything to be taken away.”

Dr. Gallagher leaned forward slightly. “That sounds exhausting to carry all the time.”

I nodded once.

And for a moment, I didn’t go anywhere else.

I just stayed there, in the room, hearing that for what it was.

The room felt quieter than it had at the start of the session.

Not because anything had changed outside of it. The clock was still ticking. The same coffee smell still lingered in the air.

But something in me had shifted just enough that I noticed it differently now.

Dr. Gallagher glanced at me, her voice steady. “We’re almost out of time. How are you feeling right now?”

That question used to be easy to answer. Fine. Tired. I don’t know.

But none of those fit cleanly anymore.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

I let out a small breath and looked down at my hands again.

“It feels weird,” I added after a moment. “Like I can see it now. What I do. I just… didn’t realize how automatic it was.”

Dr. Gallagher nodded slightly. “That’s an important step. Noticing it.”

I almost laughed, but it wasn’t really humor. It was just air.

“I spent so long thinking I was just… like this,” I said. “Always waiting. Always bracing for something.”

I paused, then added quietly, “I didn’t know that was learned.”

The clock ticked.

This time, it didn’t pull me anywhere.

It just marked the room.

Dr. Gallagher leaned back slightly. “What you learned kept you safe,” she said. “Even if it doesn’t serve you the same way anymore.”

That landed differently than it would’ve before.

Not like an excuse.

Like an explanation.

I nodded once.

“I think I’m starting to see that,” I said.

There was a pause after that. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

Dr. Gallagher closed her folder gently. “We’ll stop here for today.”

I stood slowly, my movements less automatic than usual. Like I was actually paying attention to them.

At the door, I hesitated.

For a second, I wasn’t sure why.

Then I realized it was because I wasn’t rushing to leave the feeling behind.

“See you next week?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “See you next week.”

And when I stepped out into the hallway, the air felt the same as it always did.

But I didn’t.

Not colder. Just more real.

I stood on the sidewalk for a second, adjusting the strap of my bag even though it didn’t need adjusting. It was something to do with my hands, something familiar.

The session still echoed in my head.

You learned to prepare for loss.

I let out a slow breath and started walking.

My phone buzzed halfway down the block.

Mia.

I stared at her name for a moment longer than I normally would have.

Usually, I would’ve let it sit and thought about replying later. Or not at all. Later was safer. Later meant I didn’t have to decide anything right now.

But this time, I opened the message.

Mia: You survived your professor today, or did they win?

A small smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.

My thumbs hovered over the screen.

I almost typed I’m fine.

I almost did what I always did.

Instead, I typed something smaller. Something more honest.

Me: I think I’m getting used to it. Slowly.

I paused before hitting send.

Then I did.

The response came almost immediately.

Mia: That counts. Proud of you, stranger.

I stopped walking.

Proud of you.

It should’ve felt uncomfortable. Too much. Too personal.

But it didn’t.

It just sat there.

Like something I didn’t have to push away.

I looked up at the street ahead of me. People moving in every direction, most of them not thinking twice about where they were going.

For once, I didn’t feel like I was trying to keep up.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and kept walking.

Not faster.

Not slower.

Just forward.