The room was surprisingly comforting in its quiet simplicity. Soft light filtered gently through the curtains, casting warm patterns onto a rug that welcomed me without demanding anything—just there to be soft, like it wanted me to know it was okay to breathe a little easier.

A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, subtle and calm, like the room itself understood that peace didn't need to shout to be heard. The walls were painted in a muted green, not dull but grounding, reminiscent of the kind of stillness you find when trees sway gently in the breeze.

Normally, this wasn't the kind of space I'd ever like. It was too curated, too thoughtful, like someone had carefully planned every detail to make me feel safe. A few years ago, I would've hated it for that. But after seeing places like the camp—gray, sharp, and soulless—this room was different. It didn't demand anything of me. It just was.

A framed quote caught my eye: This too shall pass. It didn't promise anything miraculous, just an acknowledgment that nothing stays forever—not even pain. I found a strange comfort in that honesty.

The chairs looked inviting—and they were. Big, cushioned, with fabric so soft it reminded me that sitting down could be about resting, not bracing for something worse. On the little table between us, a box of tissues sat quietly, not taunting but offering, just in case. Beside it, a glass pitcher of water gleamed faintly, like a small promise of renewal.

I noticed the bookshelf next, filled with books that seemed well-loved rather than preachy. There was a jar of seashells and a polished stone set beside them, quiet reminders that small, simple things could be meaningful too. In the corner, a vibrant plant stood tall, its glossy green leaves thriving under the soft light. It felt like a gentle metaphor for growth—not perfect, just alive.

The clock ticked softly on the wall, its steady rhythm more reassuring than anything else. Time wasn't being wasted here; it was simply moving forward, as it should. The therapist sat across from me, relaxed and present, not pushing but simply waiting, like there was no rush to unravel everything all at once.

The room didn't suffocate or pretend everything was perfect—it simply allowed space to be. And somehow, that was enough.

"Hello Newt," a Soft voice spoke to me from across the room. I smiled faintly. It was more of an awkward, uncomfortable smile.

"Hello," I answered back, my voice quiet and uneasy.

This was what I hated the most about myself. I used to be loud, so loud that everyone around me always felt my presence. It all changed so quickly.

"Come on, sit." She gestured me towards the chair that sat in front of her table.

I took slow steps, sitting down on a chair with an uneasy feeling that never actually left me. I didn't even know why I was there. I knew I wouldn't be able to pour all my emotions out. I was constantly holding myself back, even if a person felt safe enough for me.

"I haven't seen you for so long. Is everything okay?" She asked carefully as she opened her notebook and fixed the glasses on her nose.

"Yeah, just college and... stuff."

"So you started college?" She smiled encouragingly.

I nodded, giving her a half-hearted smile. I didn't feel good about it, because philosophy wasn't what I wanted.

As a fifteen year old who had seen so much cruelty, I promised myself that I'd become a lawyer one day and shut down places like that. Little did I know that my dreams were just dreams, and nothing more.

"That's amazing. Do you like it there?"

"I guess. I have friends there, so it's not that bad after all."

"But you're not entirely happy, why's that?"

"Philosophy isn't what I had in mind."

"I see. Law was it? You told me you wanted to be a lawyer on our first session."

I nodded, a bit surprised that she remembered. "It didn't work out."

"You can still try though. It's not the end of anything."

I looked down at my hands, my nail scrapping against my finger, drawing some blood. "I guess so."

We both knew I wouldn't try again, but she didn't press it further and I didn't bring it up again.

She asked the same questions. What I felt, why did I think I felt that way, and then she told me some ways to fix it. I wouldn't try it, and she knew. She just chose to ignore it.

I only told her about the camp once, and I didn't go into the details. It was something I knew she wouldn't understand, or wouldn't pay much attention to and I just simply didn't want to waste my words where I wouldn't be heard.

"I'll see you on Wednesday then?"

"I guess."

She nodded, silently allowing me to leave.

She never pressed the issue. Maybe she didn't think my problems were serious, or maybe she didn't want to see them at all. Either way, she took whatever scraps of truth I handed her and never asked for more. I suppose that was her way of being kind—even if it felt hollow. It's not like I've known many kind adults anyway.

The door creaked as I twisted the handle, the hallway stretching before me. Everything was silent, except for my own uneasy thoughts echoing in my mind. I kept my head low, shoulders heavy with questions I didn't have answers to. When I finally stepped outside, the cold air struck my face, sharp and bracing. I breathed it in deeply, desperate for the illusion of calm, as if the wind could sweep away everything inside me that hurt.

The world felt distant, like a song I'd only ever half-heard. Cars weaved through the streets, people rushed past with purpose, moving as though someone was waiting for them. I stood still, watching it all, both detached and amazed. There was something peaceful about the way everything kept going, like it knew exactly what to do.

Maybe that's what happens when you grow up too fast—you start noticing the little things. The way others live without thinking twice about it becomes fascinating, almost beautiful. It reminds you that life moves forward, even when you're not sure how to follow.

I started walking towards the bus station, trying to think about something else for once. Cold breeze, full street, noisy road... anything but that camp.

As I tried to distract myself, I didn't even notice where I was walking, which was probably why I bumped a person accidentally. I sighed, preparing myself for an apology before I saw the face.

That punchable face.

My jaw tightened as the extreme hatred crept up on me.

"Hey—" His tone was full of hesitation, though I didn't want to hear anything he had to say. I shook my head, not even throwing one word at him, and began to walk away.

"No, no you don't get to do that!" He yelled and gripped my shoulder, trying to stop me from leaving. "This isn't— I don't even know what I did! You're being so damn childish Newt, grow up for fuck's sake!"

It was enough for him to raise his voice once, and I had already flinched. "Don't yell at me," I said through my teeth, words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I felt even more hatred, although now it was directed towards myself, for being so weak in front of him.

His eyes widened. Slightly, but it was still noticeable. "I—" he stopped, looking at me with confusion written all over his face. "What happened to you?" His voice lowered, becoming more of a pitiful whisper.

I shook my head once again, pulling away from him. He let it happen. Maybe because he was too stunned to do anything, or maybe, he felt guilty. For whatever reason it was, I didn't care.

I rushed away before tears could even start to form in my eyes. I wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't allow myself to cry in front of him. Ever.

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Hello loves! Sorry for not updating for a while, I couldn't catch a break:)

I hope it is understandable why Newt described the same room in the exact opposite way apart from Kallias:)

I hope it is enjoyable and I promise to make it better over time. Any advice is acceptable so please if you have some, don't be shy to give it<3

Give feedback if you'd like! It means a lot to me<3

Anyway, take care and stay safe!★