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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"No, Don't cry.
It's okay, everything's gonna be okay."

-Chan's Room--

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Hana POV:

Groggily, I stumbled out of bed around 8:30 AM, my mind still foggy as I tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. For a moment, I forgot everything that had happened just a few hours earlier.

But as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, reality came rushing back, a wave of discomfort crashing over me. My thigh throbbed with each movement, a sharp reminder of last night's decisions. I winced, the bandages pulling slightly against my skin as I shifted.

"It's okay, Hana," I whispered to myself, trying to summon some determination. "Just get up."

I pushed myself off the bed, but my legs felt like lead, unsteady and weak beneath me. I took a deep breath and limped toward the bathroom, each step sending jolts of pain radiating through my thigh. It was as if the world had shifted overnight, and now my body was a stranger, filled with a dull ache that refused to subside.

The journey to the bathroom felt like an endless trek. I moved slowly, gripping the door frame for support, my heart racing as I struggled. 

Standing at the sink, I braced myself against the counter, the cold porcelain grounding me as I turned on the faucet. With trembling hands, I splashed water on my face,

After washing my face, I reached for a towel, but even that small effort felt like a workout. I dabbed at my skin, feeling the dampness cling to me like a reminder of the night's heaviness. Sighing, I turned to leave the bathroom, the ache in my leg intensifying with each step.

The floor felt unforgiving beneath my feet as I shuffled toward my room, forcing myself to pick up my pace despite the throbbing pain. I paused at the door, leaning against the frame for support. A deep breath in, then out, and I stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting me like a splash of water.

I straightened my posture, trying to mask the limping, A small sigh escaped me as I straightened up, forcing my posture to hold steady despite the lingering weakness in my body. My hand reached for the coffee maker, but the motion was clumsy, unsure, as though the simple task was something new, something unfamiliar.

The door lock beeps, an I hear Minho come in. 

"Good morning, didn't expect you to be up so early."
He said, slightly startled by my presence in the kitchen.

"I'm trying to get back to my routine,"
I said, hoping my voice didn't betray the weakness I felt.

"Isn't that a little soon? It's Sunday—take a proper rest day."

"No, really, I'm fine," I said, forcing the words out with more conviction than I felt.
"It's better for me to stick to my schedule."

"Okay, I'll trust you on this, meanwhile trust me and take a seat while I cook breakfast."
He smiled, taking out a cold bottle of water as he gulped it down.

"Coffee?"
I offered.

"Oh yes, caffeine with no sugar please."
He said.
"What would you like? Eggs and Bacon? or should I whip up some pancake batter?"

"Eggs and bacon is good, not in the mood for anything sweet, besides you won't eat them."

"Okay makes sense, then another time."

As I watched him crack eggs into the pan, the sizzling bacon filling the air, something strange stirred inside me. He was so focused, so intent on making sure I was okay, taking the time to cook us a real breakfast.

And what did I do? I just made all his efforts feel pointless.

He looked so happy, so content in the simplicity of cooking for us, all the time we spent together this weekend.

But what scares me is that I don't deserve any of it. He gives so much, and I... I keep taking.

Remember when I said I wasn't scared of falling in love with him? 

Well, now I was.

The thought of it, of feeling so much, was terrifying. Because what if I couldn't give him anything in return? What if all I did was take, without ever being able to truly be there for him the way he was for me?

Minho was the kind of person who gave without hesitation, who put others before himself, but not for everyone, just the people he really cared for. But I wasn't sure I could do the same. And that terrified me more than anything else.

"You were awake last night. Couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah, just couldn't sleep."

How could I? I was so busy ruining things for myself.

"So what did you do?"

"Studied, a little. That did the trick, I wanted to go to bed as soon as I could."

"Well I'm glad it worked."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Do you want me to come in there with you?"

Minho said anxiously.

"Not sure that's how therapy works, but I'm okay, I can handle this alone."
I avoided eye contact, refused to look away from the road in front of me.

"At least look at me as you say that."
He mumbled.

"I appreciate your help Minho, and I've completely accepted that I was stupid in the past, and now I mean it that I'll go to someone if I ever need help."

"I've noticed." Minho agreed.
"And I'm glad you're not trying to handle everything on you're own."

"I might not tell you everything just as it happens, but I will once I'm ready to talk about things."

"Meet you here? I'll be in the park."
Minho said getting out of the car.

"I'll give you a call."

"Don't be scared, be open with them, and if she get's personal and you think you're not rea-"

"Minho. It's fine, I've got this."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The waiting room was silent, save for the faint rustling of paper from the receptionist's desk. I sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, my leg throbbing under the pressure of being still. It had only been a few minutes since I'd arrived, but already, my body was betraying me—shaking, tense, as if I could run at any moment.

Just then, the door to the therapist's office opened, and a woman in her mid-forties stood in the doorway, offering a kind smile. She had an air of calm about her, something reassuring.

"Choi Hana?" she asked gently, her voice warm but not overbearing.

"Yes, that's me."
I followed the therapist into the room. The moment the door closed behind me, I felt the walls close in. It was just me now. Just the raw, ugly truth of whatever was going on inside me.

I sat down on the couch across from her, my hands clenched in my lap as I tried to ignore the way my body trembled. She settled into her chair, her gaze steady but not intrusive. There was no rush, no urgency in her movements. She was waiting for me to speak.

"Let's start slow, okay?" she said, her tone gentle. "How are you feeling today?" 

I took a deep breath. The question was so simple, yet it felt impossible to answer. How was I supposed to explain all the weight I was carrying? How was I supposed to put words to the suffocating feeling that had been following me for so long?

"Good,"
I hesitated.
"I'm not sure if I remember being better than right now, my head's a bit... messed up."

"Let's start with something simple. An introduction of a sort. I'll start. I'm Dr. Nam, I've been a therapist for 20 years and I'm married with two lovely kids."

I nodded, a little relieved by the easy start. I didn't feel like diving into the hard stuff yet.

"I'm Hana,  I'm a medical student and an Intern at Seoul National Hospital."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression curious but not overwhelming.
"Oh my, you must be really smart then. I've heard it's not easy getting in."

I almost smiled, but it felt awkward. It was hard to connect these simple words to the version of myself that actually worked so hard to get there—the one that had been exhausted, questioning everything, and always chasing after something that never felt like it was enough.

"I tried really hard," 
I said, keeping my voice steady, but inside, a part of me felt exposed. 

My academic achievements were one of the few things I could cling to. It was like a shield, something to point to when people asked who I was, as if it could mask the parts of me I wasn't ready to show. I had nothing else to tell about myself.

Dr. Nam made a note, her smile gentle.
 "That's admirable, Hana. It sounds like you're very determined."

"I try..." I hesitated.
"Sorry. I just don't really see where any of this is going. I don't understand how talking normally will change anything." I blurted.

"That's okay, it happens. You'll get used to it. It's just one of the many ways to get the brain relaxed and ready to unfold one of the many problem you've been having trouble with."

"It was hard... to accept that I needed help. But I'm trying... for the people who care and whom I love."

Dr. Nam's eyes softened, and she scribbled something in her notes.
"That's a very good mindset, considering your situation. A lot of people struggle with the idea of needing help, but the fact that you're here shows you're willing to face it. That's already a big step."

I swallowed, trying to keep the lump from forming in my throat. I had never been good at accepting that I couldn't fix everything myself. I'd spent too long convincing myself that asking for help was a sign of weakness. But sitting in this chair, facing her calm demeanor, it didn't seem so shameful.

"Let's move on," Dr. Nam said, bringing me back to the moment.
"How do you start your day, Hana?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But I answered anyway, feeling like a robot reciting a script.
"I wake up at 7:20 a.m. Sometimes, 7:40 a.m. if I'm lazy,"
I said with a dry laugh, but the humor didn't reach my eyes.
"Leave home by 8:15 a.m., attend lectures. Go to the hospital by 4 or 5 p.m., take a small 20-minute break, and then I go on rounds. On busy days, I come back around 10 p.m., and if I'm lucky, I get back by 8."

Her gaze was steady as she wrote down everything I said.
"Not a single minute for yourself throughout the day," she observed, her voice gentle.
"You like being occupied?"

"Yeah, I hate being unproductive." I bit my lip.
"Just sitting around, lazily moping around the house... it just makes me anxious. Like I'm not doing enough, like I'm falling behind. It's not like I have anything better to do."

She didn't rush to respond, letting my words hang in the air.
"Is it self-induced? This anxiety, because you're unoccupied?"

"Initially, no. Later on when I got into college, it became a habit."

"How did it start initially?"

I could feel my voice trembling as I spoke, the words coming out in a rush, like I needed to release them before they choked me. I wasn't sure why I was sharing this now, but it felt important—like the pieces of my life were finally lining up, even if they didn't make sense just yet.

"My father..." I began, my throat tight as I said it. It always felt strange to talk about him, as if mentioning him out loud would make him more distant.
 "He's well-known in the medical field. When I was young—maybe six, give or take—I'd watch him come home in his white coat. He was always so tired, but there was this... pride about him. This one time, he pulled a 32-hour shift at the hospital. There was a huge accident. I didn't sleep that whole night, just stayed up, waiting for him to come home."
 I paused, remembering how I felt, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears.

"When he finally came home, it was early morning. I was in the kitchen when he walked in, telling my mom, 'I saved five people today, and not once did I regret working such a long shift.' He was beaming with pride. And my mom, she was proud too. I remember thinking, That's what I want to be. My mom worked in the hospital as well, but her role was more about the business side of things. That never interested me. I wanted to be like him instead."

I stopped, unsure of where to go from here. Dr. Nam was quiet, waiting patiently, but there was a heavy silence in the air as if she was letting me unfold this memory at my own pace.

"I told them. I told my parents that I wanted to be like my dad,"
I continued, the words spilling out.
"Of course, like any parent, they were so happy to hear that. They were thrilled. But I think... I think that was the biggest mistake I made. Because after that, it became their sole purpose to mold me into the perfect child. The perfect student. And I think, in their minds, the perfect future doctor."

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of those words pulling me down.
"From that moment on, it was like my life wasn't mine anymore. It was all about meeting their expectations, checking all the boxes, proving that I was worthy of their pride. And I didn't even realize it, but somewhere along the way, I stopped being Hana. I just became... a version of what they wanted me to be."

I swallowed hard, feeling the old frustration bubbling up again. The suffocating pressure I hadn't allowed myself to fully acknowledge until now.

"They never said it directly, but I always knew," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper.
"If I couldn't meet those expectations, if I didn't get into the best school, if I didn't become a doctor like my dad... then I would be a failure. I would let them down. But recently, they've resorted to saying right to my face."

"I'm not going to blame anyone,"
I continued, my voice breaking slightly as I forced the words out.
"Because it's not like I don't want to be a doctor. I do, I really, really do. I admire what my dad does. But... the controlling, the home-schooling, not being able to make friends, not being able to be... a teenager. I missed all of that."

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sharp sting in my throat. The weight of those years, the years I spent isolated in pursuit of perfection, felt heavier now than it ever had before. The memories of those early days felt like a distant but still present ache.

"I didn't get to be like everyone else," I said, shaking my head slowly.
"I never had the chance to just... mess up, you know? To try things, fail, laugh, cry over stupid stuff. It was always about being perfect, always about proving myself."

I clenched my fists in my lap, the frustration that had been simmering for years suddenly surfacing. "I didn't have a childhood. I had... goals. And that's all I had. And now, I'm struggling, be it studies, relationships of any kind- everything. I don't know how to fix, what to feel anymore."
My voice was barely a whisper by the end, as if the reality of it had finally sunk in.

"But that doesn't mean it's too late to discover who you are,"
Dr. Nam continued.
"You're not trapped in that mold forever. You can still have those experiences, Hana. You can still find joy outside of your responsibilities. It's not an either-or situation. You don't have to choose between being a doctor and being you. You can be all that you want."

Her words hung in the air, but I wasn't sure I could believe them just yet.
"I don't know how," I whispered. "I've spent my whole life being this person, this... version of myself. How do I even begin to be someone else? Someone who actually knows what they want, not just what everyone else wants for them?"

"It's a process," Dr. Nam said softly, offering me a small, understanding smile.
"And it's okay not to have all the answers right now. It's okay to not know exactly where you're going. The important thing is that you're starting to ask the questions. And with time, those answers will come."
"Do you have any kind of support system?"

"Yes, yes- But I don't like to open up to them, being vulnerable. They remind me daily, that everything's... going to be okay. They try to keep me happy, but I just can't."

"Is that why you took such a drastic decision 2 weeks ago?"
She blurted.

I hesitated, but she didn't rush me.
"Yes, it was on my mind, for a very, very long time. That day, I'd truly given up."

"Dr. Areum says she has no idea how things panned out. She'd seen you on her last working day, you were lethargic, she says your health wasn't good. But you were also not supposed to be there, you were offered to step down from the internship for a while."

"I wasn't supposed to be there. I drove there straight from university just as my lectures were over, I just wanted to take a look, and I wanted to go to the hill I always went to."

Dr. Nam nodded, jotting down notes but not looking away. Her voice softened.
"Do you regret it?"

It was the first time I looked away. I didn't lift my head, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor.

Dr. Nam's voice broke the silence, calm and steady. "Hana, remember—this is your pace. No one is going to rush you. You get to draw your own boundaries. That means you have the right to say 'no' when you don't want to answer."

"No. I don't regret it."
The words felt heavier than I expected.

Dr. Nam didn't say anything at first. She just nodded, as if she waited for me to continue.

"But, it doesn't mean I want to do it again."

I fidgeted with the hem of my sweater, tracing the frayed edges with my fingers, unsure of how to continue.

I glanced at her and then quickly looked away, focusing on the ground in front of me.

"I hurt a lot of people with that decision. I hated seeing them that way."

"Can you tell me who's 'them'?"

"Seungmin, Jeongin and... Minho."
I said with my smile reaching my eyes with each name.
"They helped me, and I'm grateful for all of it. Minho helped me get through the last two weeks. didn't leave me alone for a second."

"Are any of these guys special to you?"

"Seungmin and Jeongin are my best friends, ever since high school. Minho is my roommate."
She smiles at that.

"You like talking about them?"
She asks.

"I love talking about them. They're the only good thing in my life right now."

The timer on her desk pinged softly, signaling the end of our session.

"Looks like our time's up for today," Dr. Nam said, her tone still calm but carrying a hint of finality. She reached for a sheet of paper and began to fill it out. "I'd like you to fill out this form, and please submit it before you leave. Remember,  it's an important part of your sessions for us because it'll help me plan the next steps in your healing journey."

I felt a small knot in my stomach, the idea of planning ahead still a little too much for me to wrap my mind around.

"Dr. Nam, it's okay, you can just say it,"
 I said, almost flatly, feeling that familiar weight pressing down on me.
 "I know you're going to prescribe me anti-depressants or something for the anxiety."

"I'm not rushing to any conclusions," she replied gently. "We'll take it one step at a time, Hana. This is just the beginning. I want you to feel comfortable with whatever we decide together. Medication could be part of it, but only if it's what you need. Maybe all you need is someone to talk to."

I simply nodded.

"This test will help us make that decision. I want you to fill it out honestly, Hana. Lying here won't help you, and it certainly won't help me help you.
She handed me a paper.

Before I could leave, I glanced up, my voice low but steady, a little hesitation in the question. "This will remain... confidential, right?"

Dr. Nam met my gaze without a beat, her expression reassuring.
"Of course," she replied, her voice a quiet promise. 

"Everything we discuss, everything you share, is between us. It's all part of creating a space where you can feel safe enough to be honest with yourself."

"Thank you, Dr. Nam."
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, taking a slow, steadying breath as I walked out with the paper.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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