The wind whispered through the dead leaves as I trudged along the rocky pavement, the remnants of snow melting beneath my feet. Each step felt like walking through a raging inferno, my heart racing with unanswered questions. The pain in my hand throbbed relentlessly, chipping away at my resolve with every passing moment.

The world around me appeared desolate and hollow, devoid of meaning. Even the streets seemed barren, stripped of their usual hustle and bustle. "I need to see my therapist," I muttered under my breath, determined to seek solace in the familiarity of therapy.

I plugged in my phone, drowning out the world with music in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sense of emptiness. Every aspect of the surroundings felt wrong, as if everything had been a mistake from the start, even the gentle breeze that brushed against my skin.

Crossing the street was a nerve-wracking experience as cars zoomed by, leaving me overwhelmed with a mix of emotions.

I rang the doorbell, huddling in my coat against the biting cold. The tall, straight-haired woman who answered had striking ginger hair. "Can I help you?" she asked. "I'm... Laila... I'm here to see Ms. Shamilla Katak," I stammered. "Oh dear, she left the clinic yesterday. I'm the therapist here now, and our automatic door is out of order. We've replaced it temporarily, so there's no need to worry. I know you feel like this is a diffrent place! No worries I've got you" she reassured me, her soothing voice calming my nerves, even though the extra informations made me feel uneasy...

"Please, come inside," she gestured, ushering me into the warmth.

"Take a seat here, let me fetch you some hot tea," she said as she disappeared into the room.

The rooms were painted in different hues, adorned with antique couches. A glass tea table held a stack of magazines, while dust still lingered on the upholstery. "Here, dear, a warm cup of tea," she handed me a cup. "Thank you," I paused, "Daisy Dorman, you can call me Daisy," she introduced herself with a smile.

"Tell me about yourself," she prompted gently, her demeanor encouraging me to open up. "Well, I'm Laila, a college student studying graphic design. Lately, I've been struggling with depression," I began.

"I hope you've heard about the murder mystery on Pinewood Street. I witnessed it yesterday, and since then, I've been unable to sleep well. It feels like something is haunting me. I woke up with body aches and bruises, like this one on my wrist," I rushed through my worries, finding comfort in her presence.

"It sounds like you're frightened. You may have experienced anxiety attacks, but there's nothing to fear. As for the scar, it could be from an accidental injury," she reassured me with a soft smile, adjusting her grey cardigan. "No, Daisy, I saw the man near my house, under the tree. I..." I tried to explain further, but she interrupted, "Perhaps you were fixated on that idea. Just try to calm down, Laila," she said, holding my hand. "Maybe you're right. I just need to take a deep breath," I conceded.

"I must be going. Thank you, Daisy!" I declared with a grateful smile, rising from the couch. "Excuse me, but I think this couch is dusty! See you next time. I'm glad I could help. Don't forget this card; it has my contact details. Reach out whenever you need," she said, standing up with a slight sneeze.

"The tea was wonderful! Thank you," I expressed my gratitude as I opened the door to leave. Feeling much lighter after our conversation, I headed home. But as I walked, the ringing in my ears returned, growing louder and more insistent. I quickened my pace, sensing danger looming. Nothing felt right, and the sky darkened with ominous clouds. The surroundings seemed desolate, and my body tensed with an impending attack... until someone grabbed my shoulder.

My body froze, muscles refusing to coordinate, as my mind raced with questions and fear. "Hey, calm down, it's Sindy. You looked suspicious coming out of the therapist's office," said a long-haired girl in a hoodie, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Oh, Sindy, I didn't expect to see you here. What a surprise," I replied, trying to appear nonchalant despite the turmoil churning inside me.

"It's surprising for me to see you leaving the therapist's office," Sindy remarked, her hand gently resting on mine, offering a semblance of comfort.

My mind was flooded with uncertainties. Should I confide in her? Would she understand? Could she possibly believe the horrors I had witnessed? The questions buzzed like angry bees, each one stinging me with doubt and fear. I glanced at her, searching her eyes for any sign of judgment or disbelief.

The weight of my secret pressed down on me, threatening to crush my resolve. I felt trapped in a web of fear, every thread pulling tighter as I struggled to decide. My breath quickened, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears. The hallway seemed to close in around us, the silence amplifying the tension.

Could I trust her with the truth? Could I even bear to speak it aloud? The uncertainty gnawed at me, my mouth dry and my thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of dread.

Deciding to keep the reason to myself, I replied calmly, "No, I just needed to clear my mind." "Okay, I trust you. But if you ever need anything, you can always count on me," she said with sincerity, her serious gaze conveying care. That moment of understanding was more comforting than any therapy session.

"Let's go to Crook's; your mom told me you left without eating," she suggested, and I nodded as we walked. "Do you believe in killing for pleasure?" I asked abruptly. "That's a sudden question. No, I don't believe in that. Every human has a breaking point. If someone doesn't, then they're not human to me," she retorted firmly.

"How do you always have the right answers to my questions?" I chuckled. "If I'm your friend, then I should carry a dictionary with me," she laughed.

We talked endlessly, losing track of time. After brunch, our conversation flowed until she asked, "Do you have a boyfriend? I saw you talking to... you know, Sheeran Kalpanav last week."

"Um, I'm sorry. We've been together since this month. We planned to announce it after college," I diverted my gaze, feeling guilty. "You didn't trust me?" she asked, her voice tinged with sadness. "But I'm happy for you," she added quickly.

"I'm sorry, Sindy. I'm just trying to piece everything together these days, and I couldn't find the right time to tell you," I tried to reassure her. "Next time, don't keep me in the dark," she instructed, and I nodded.

That night,

I curled up under the duvet, peeking out of the window, my heart pounding with questions as the still tree cast no shadows. I wanted to scream, to release the pent-up fear, but the ringing in my ears persisted.

It felt maddening, corrupting every thought. I stared at the empty ceiling, hoping to silence the ringing terror...