I stared at the rug, tracing the pattern with my eyes. Ithought of Jace’s hand squeezing mine in the hallway. The promise in his voice when he said he’d be right there.
“You should be proud of yourself for taking this step, Elior,” Mark said.
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded.
After a moment, he shifted slightly in his chair. “We don’t have to start with the hardest thing,” he said. “Sometimes it helps to begin with where you are right now.”
I swallowed again. My mouth felt dry. “Okay.”
“Right now,” he prompted softly, “what does your body feel like?”
That question caught me off guard. I blinked and thought about it.
“My shoulders are tight,” I said after a second. “And my stomach feels funny.”
Mark smiled faintly. “Okay. Those are some very common first-session feelings.”
“Oh.” I let out a small sigh, relieved to hear that other people also felt this way.
“It’s normal to feel nervous in new situations. And it’s normal to feel nervous about being here, especially if you aren’t used to talking about your feelings. I bet you’ve been feeling pretty nervous lately in general, with all the changes.”
I nodded.
“You’ve been through a lot in the past couple of months.”
I nodded again.
His lips tilted up in a kind smile. “Is there anything that’s helped you feel a bit calmer? I know that when I get stressed, I like to cook. It helps me relax, takes my mind off things. Do you have anything like that, Elior?”
My fingers twisted together in my lap. “Um…” I froze, then remembered what he’d said about there being no wrong answers. “I like cuddling.”
“Yeah? What do you like about it?” he asked, like he genuinely wanted to know.
My face warmed, embarrassment creeping up my neck. I stared at my hands, trying to untangle the feeling enough to put words to it.
“I-I don’t know,” I said quietly. “It’s just… nice.”
Mark didn’t rush me. He didn’t jump in to fill the space or rephrase the question. He just waited, patient in a way that I was grateful for.
“It’s okay if it’s hard to explain,” he said after a beat. “You can take your time.”
I swallowed. “It helps when there’s… weight,” I managed, fumbling with my hands as if to show him what I was talking about. “Like when someone’s arm is around me, or when I’m leaning against them. And warmth. And touch, like softness and roughness. And—” I faltered, frustrated with myself. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying it right.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Mark said gently. “I understand what you’re saying.”
I risked a glance up at him.
He was smiling, a sparkle in his eye.
“It sounds like you’re very tactile,” he said. “Your nervous system responds well to physical sensation—pressure, warmth, contact. That’s actually very common, especially for people who’ve lived with a lot of stress.”
“Oh,” I said again. “So it’s okay?”
Mark shifted forward and stood, moving toward a low cabinet along the wall. “Yes, definitely. I’m actually glad you told me that,” he said over his shoulder. He opened adrawer and pulled out a small plastic box, setting it on the table between us.
Inside were objects arranged neatly: smooth magnetic stones, a soft fabric square, a rubbery ring with raised bumps, a small weighted pouch, and something that looked like putty.
“These are sensory items,” he explained, taking his seat again. “Some people find it easier to talk—or just to sit—when their hands are occupied. You’re welcome to choose anything here. You can hold it, fidget with it, set it on your lap. Whatever feels comforting.”
