Elliot was midway through his session with Dr Harper when he realised he wasn't bracing himself.
The familiar grid of the video call filled his screen, Dr Harper seated in his office, hands folded loosely on the desk in front of him. Elliot sat at his own desk by the window, headphones on, his posture relaxed in a way that he wouldn't have been capable of a few months ago. The apartment behind him was quiet, warm, lived-in. Val was out for the morning, but her presence lingered in small ways. A mug drying on the rack. Her notebook on the table. Her phone charger on the coffee table.
"So," Dr Harper said gently, "how were the holidays for you?"
Elliot considered the question carefully. He didn't like to rush answers, he didn't want to reach for the safest response.
"They were… good," he said finally. Then, after a beat, he added, "Better than I expected."
Dr Harper's eyebrows lifted slightly. "In what way?"
Elliot leaned back in his chair, thinking.
"I haven't really celebrated Christmas since my parents died," he said. "I usually treat it like any other day. Keep routines. Avoid… people and expectations."
"And this year?"
"This year it was just me and Val," he said. "And Noah and Holly came over in the afternoon. We cooked together. We didn't do anything elaborate. No big traditions." His mouth curved faintly. "But it felt… warm. Not forced. I didn't feel like I was uncomfortable or expecting something bad to happen."
Dr Harper nodded. "That's significant."
"Yes," Elliot agreed. "I think so, too."
He hesitated, then continued, emboldened by the steadiness in his chest. "I've also been going for walks. Every day."
Dr Harper smiled. "Every day?"
"Most days," Elliot amended. "Sometimes with Val. Sometimes on my own. I've been walking to the café in the evenings, when she finishes work. I wait outside and walk her home."
"And how does that feel?" Dr Harper asked.
Elliot searched for the right word. "Nice," he said. "Still uncomfortable sometimes. But not… overwhelming. It doesn't feel like I'm struggling with it anymore."
"That's a huge step," Dr Harper said, warmth evident in his voice. "You're expanding your world deliberately. That's not a small achievement."
Elliot absorbed that, nodding slowly.
"There's something I'd like you to consider," Dr Harper continued. "You've made progress with proximity. With routine disruption. With emotional intimacy. The next step might be something outward-facing. Not social for the sake of social, but meaningful."
Elliot frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Something aligned with who you are and what you like," Dr Harper clarified. "Something that allows you to engage with others around a shared purpose, rather than small talk or performance. Find a hobby."
Elliot felt the familiar flicker of apprehension, but it didn't bloom into panic. "Like… volunteering?"
"That's one option," Dr Harper said. "Or attend a class. Join a group. Something structured, it can be predictable, but not solitary."
Elliot didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted to the window, to the street below, where people moved through their day with casual ease. He thought of Val at the community centre. Of her stories. Of the way she spoke about people finding their voices again.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"I'd like that," Dr Harper replied. "And Elliot?"
"Yes."
"You're no longer avoiding life," Dr Harper said. "You're choosing it. Even when it scares you."
The session ended not long after. Elliot closed the laptop and sat quietly for a moment, letting the conversation settle. His heart was steady. Curious rather than afraid.
When Val came home later that afternoon, she found him at the kitchen counter, making tea.
"Hey," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "How was your session?"
"Good," he replied. "Challenging."
She smiled. "Oh?"
He handed her a mug, then hesitated. "Dr Harper suggested I try something… outward-facing."
Her expression softened immediately. "How do you feel about that?"
"Nervous," he said honestly. "But I'm not.... against it."
She tilted her head. "Do you have anything in mind?"
"I was thinking about the community centre," he said. "Since you're there so much."
Her face lit up, but she kept her tone measured. "We have a few things you might like. A book club. A writing group."
He looked at her. "Writing group?"
"Yes," she said. "It's a small group. Mostly quiet people. They write independently, then share if they want to. Sometimes they give each other feedback. But there's no pressure to share. You can just listen to the others."
That settled in him. "Hm," he said. "I think I'd be able to try that."
"Okay," she said, gentle and steady. "We can go together. I'll be there anyway."
The first session was the following week.
Elliot nearly backed out twice before they left the apartment. His chest felt tight, his thoughts looping through worst-case scenarios with practiced efficiency. Too many people. Too much expectation. Saying the wrong thing. Saying nothing at all.
Val noticed without comment. She simply took his hand as they walked, her grip firm and reassuring.
"You don't have to stay till the end," she reminded him quietly as they approached the building. "You can leave at any point."
"I know," he said.
The writing group met in a small room at the back of the centre. There were eight other people there, seated in a loose circle, notebooks and laptops in front of them. The facilitator smiled kindly and welcomed everyone, her voice calm and unassuming.
Elliot sat near the door. He liked being near the exit.
They were given a prompt and instructed to write for 30 minutes. The half hour passed in silence as everyone wrote. The scratch of pens. The soft click of keys. The hum of the heating. Elliot focused on his breathing, then on the page in front of him. Words came slowly at first, then with more confidence. He wrote about quiet mornings. About the way fear could soften when met with patience.
When it came time to share, a few people read aloud. Their voices were tentative, honest. No one critiqued. No one interrupted. When the facilitator glanced at Elliot, he shook his head slightly.
"That's okay," she said easily, moving on without further comment.
The two hours passed more quickly than he expected.
When it ended, Elliot felt drained, but not shattered. Overwhelmed, yes. But also invigorated in a way.
He stepped into the hallway and immediately scanned the space.
Val looked up from a table nearby, where she had been working with a group of teenagers on a mural. She smiled when she saw him and excused herself, walking over.
"How was it?" she asked.
He exhaled. "Hard," he admitted. "But… good."
She didn't push. She simply slipped her hand into his.
They walked home together in companionable quiet. Elliot replayed the session in his mind. The proximity. The unfamiliarity. The surprising absence of judgment.
"I think I'll go again next week," he said suddenly.
Val stopped walking and looked at him, her smile bright and proud. "Yeah?"
"Yes," he said. "They didn't make me feel… odd. For being quiet."
She squeezed his hand. "That's because being quiet isn't odd."
As they continued home, Elliot noticed something else.
The world was still loud. Still unpredictable. But he was learning how to move through it without fear. Without flinching.
And for the first time, the idea of being around groups of people didn't terrify him.
It felt like possibility.