Trying something new with this one :) When it comes to Twilight, I love Bella and Alice, they're what I write most about. But for this, I'm mixing it up. This is going to be for you Edward and Bella lovers, so don't forget to interact in anyway, reviews would be awesome and I'll see you next time :)

Bella's POV

I sat in the chair, my hands clenched tight in my lap, knuckles turning white. I stared down at my fingers. They were pale, nails bitten down to the quick, raw around the edges. The skin felt tender, sore from the constant chewing, but I couldn't stop. I could never stop. My hands wouldn't stay still, restless against the thick fabric of my jeans, each little movement feeling louder than it should in the suffocating silence of the room. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo, sharp and intrusive, the minutes stretching out in front of me like an endless road I wasn't ready to walk down.

I knew he was watching me, his gaze steady, and his calm was unsettling.

A clock ticked somewhere behind me, steady and indifferent. I couldn't stop counting the seconds, feeling each one stretch longer, drawing me further from the door, from the escape that I couldn't stop wanting even though I'd barely been here a few minutes.

The silence felt heavy, pressing in, thick and stifling. My foot tapped against the carpet, my leg bouncing as if I could run off all the thoughts racing around in my head. I was supposed to be... doing something, talking, maybe. But I didn't know where to start, and all I wanted was to get out of here, out of the spotlight of his waiting gaze, back into air that didn't feel so tight.

I glanced around the room, searching for something, anything, to fill the seconds. The walls were painted a flat beige, as if whoever chose it didn't want anyone to feel anything at all. A plant sat on a shelf by the window, its leaves glossy and green, but even it looked like it didn't quite belong here. Across from me was a small table with a stack of magazines fanned out in a way that was too neat, too precise, as if they'd never actually been read.

I looked up at the clock on the wall, its black hands ticking steadily, marking each second I was trapped here. The furniture was all soft curves and muted colours; beige, grey and cream, like they were afraid anything bolder might set someone off. A large painting hung on the wall across from me, a forest scene with mist creeping between the trees, but even that felt overly careful, like it was supposed to be calming. But all I could think about was how quiet everything was, how loud my fidgeting felt in the stillness.

I could still feel his eyes on me, waiting, quiet and steady, like he was in no hurry at all. My foot started tapping more incessantly, the carpet barely muffling the rhythm, and I thought about how easy it would be to just get up and walk out.

The man across from me - Edward Masen, he'd introduced himself - looked like he was plucked right out of one of those classic movie scenes where the doctor's too perfect to be real. He was handsome, in a subtle, timeless way that made me wonder if he'd always looked just like this: bronze hair, a few strands lightly greying at the temples, and green eyes that held a soft, patient focus as if he saw right through my nervous fidgeting but didn't mind it one bit. His face had gentle edges, a softened but pronounced jawline that hinted at age without looking tired, and there was something about him that radiated calm, like he'd spent years perfecting the art of making people feel at ease.

Even his clothes; deep brown tailored slacks, a dark sweater under a brown muted blazer, seemed designed to be reassuring, as if he'd somehow known that anything too flashy might send me running. His hands, resting on his notepad, were steady, long fingers lightly clasping a pen, ready but unhurried. There was no impatience, no hint of judgement, just a quiet presence that told me he was used to waiting, that he'd be here as long as I needed, whether I decided to talk or not.

Edward's expression held a kindness that wasn't forced or overdone; it was as if he genuinely cared, as if he'd seen a thousand anxious hands like mine and still took each one seriously. I could feel his gaze, which was not heavy or intrusive, but warm. Like sunlight filtering through clouds. It should have made it easier to start, to let down my guard, but the more he waited, the more I felt my walls climbing higher. Brick by brick building them higher than his eyes could see.

Edward leaned forward slightly, his hands resting gently on his notepad, and his voice broke through the silence in a warm, low tone that felt carefully measured, as if he didn't want to startle me.

"Bella," he began softly, his gaze steady and reassuring. "I know this can feel… uncomfortable. Starting anything new often does. So let's keep things simple for now, okay?"

I nodded, feeling my hands tighten a bit less in my lap as I focused on his voice, trying to let the calm seep in.

"For these sessions, my role is to give you a space to talk about whatever's on your mind," he explained, his words slow and thoughtful. "We'll go at your pace. There's no pressure to say anything you're not ready to share, and there's no 'right' way to start." He smiled gently, his eyes warm, as if he knew just how strange all of this felt.

He glanced down at his notepad, then back at me, adding, "We'll use these first few sessions to understand what brings you here. Your goals, the things that feel heavy or difficult, and anything else you want to work on. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or need a break, just let me know." He smiled again, barely a quirk of his lips, but it flickered through me nonetheless. "This is your time."

His voice held no expectation, just a quiet patience that made it hard not to believe he truly meant every word. It didn't matter to him if I spoke now or sat in silence for the next hour; he was simply here, willing to wait as long as it took.

So I sat in silence, feeling every second stretch painfully long.

My mom was right out in the waiting room, probably flipping through one of those glossy magazines with a pasted-on smile, pretending she wasn't irritated. It had only been ten minutes so far. Ten minutes that felt like forever, and already I wanted to walk out, make up some excuse, anything to be anywhere but here. I'd rather get socked in the mouth by perfect miss Stanley than have my shit rocked in this room. Under the ever prying eyes of this Dr Masen. They were a startling green, and never settled on me too long, though I have a feeling that no matter where they drifted his focus was solely on me.

I kept my mouth shut, hoping he would just… I don't know, stop looking so calm and expectant.

I glanced around his office again, picking up on details I hadn't noticed before, anything to fill the silence. There was a small collection of leather-bound books lined up neatly on a shelf by his desk, all worn and slightly faded, like he'd read each one a thousand times. Beside them, a smooth stone paperweight sat in a quiet grey, carefully placed, as if even that had its own intentional space. By his closed laptop were several magazines that displayed some kind of instrument and music notes.

I wonder if he played anything, or if they were just there for show.

A glass vase with a single white lily sat on a side table by his chair, and I found myself staring at the delicate curve of its petals. How the soft shades of white shifted to grey as it neared the core of the plant. The flower looked almost out of place in this neutral room, like it was too bright, too alive, too fragile. My eyes drifted to a small framed photo on his desk, showing a group of people on a sunlit beach; probably family, though the faces were too far away to tell. It looked like a memory he kept close, but private, something that stayed carefully in the background. Another accompanied it, though it was tilted in such a way that glare from the window covered his face, as well as the person he had his arm around.

I could still feel his quiet presence across from me, waiting without pushing, like he had all the time in the world. The air felt heavy, pressing in from all sides, making my throat tighten. My eyes finally settled on a faint crack in the ceiling, and I traced its jagged line, wondering how much longer I'd have to sit here before it'd be okay to leave.

As he reached over to pour himself a glass of water, I caught sight of a simple silver band on his left hand. The ring looked worn but cared for, a little dull around the edges, but it held its place like it belonged. I felt a strange tug of curiosity I couldn't quite explain, wondering about the person he went home to at the end of the day. What was she like? Did she know how calm he could be, how he made other people feel seen even when they barely spoke a word?

Maybe she was calm too, someone who matched his patience, or maybe she was the opposite; a force that could balance out his quiet demeanour. I imagined her laughing with him, or maybe he'd pull out that same gentle smile for her, and suddenly the idea of Edward Masen as more than just the person sitting across from me felt oddly personal, like I'd stumbled onto something private.

I shifted in my seat, pulling my eyes away from his hand, but the image of that ring lingered, tugging at me.

Edward set the glass of water back down, his fingers lingering on the edge of the glass before he sat back, his posture still relaxed but attentive. His slacks creased and with one hand he straightened them out, the movements noticed my gaze drift, and I quickly turned my attention back to him, suddenly aware of how much I had been avoiding looking at him directly.

"How about we start with something simple?" he asked inquisitively, his soft and smooth fingers tapped his notebook. "I know it might feel strange, but I'd like to understand a little about what brings you here today. Just anything you feel comfortable sharing."

His eyes were warm, patient, as if he didn't expect me to spill all my secrets, but he was offering a door I could peek through if I wanted.

"I know it's not easy," he continued, his voice never wavering. "You don't have to tell me everything right away, Bella. Maybe just a little. What's been on your mind lately?"

He waited, watching me quietly, giving me space. His presence was calm, like he was offering an outstretched hand, but he never forced it toward me. Though it was clear the offer was there.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words in my chest, and despite the swirling nerves, something in me wanted to take that step. I wasn't ready to say much, but I could feel his patience, like he could wait forever for me to find the words.

I nodded slowly, my fingers twisting together in my lap, the fabric of my jeans rubbing against the raw spots where I'd bitten the skin down too far. I could feel the edges of my nails, frayed and uneven, scraping together, and it made me focus on the sensation. Anything to keep my mind from racing.

"My mom… she thinks I should be here, father too but he's barely in the picture." I started, my voice low, almost like I wasn't sure if I even meant to say it aloud. "But she doesn't really get why. She thinks I'm just… overreacting, I guess. That I'm just… stressed. She says it's normal, that every teenager feels like this sometimes It's a part of growing up." I chuckle bitterly and shift in the chair.

I swallowed, feeling a knot in my throat, the words getting caught in the middle of something I couldn't quite put into perspective.

"She doesn't understand," I muttered, my fingers picking at the frayed edge of my sleeve. "She doesn't know what it's like. To feel… like everything is too much. Or that all the choices I make are irreversible or inconsequential."

I glanced up at Edward, trying to gauge his expression, wondering if I sounded pathetic, or if I was even making sense. "She just doesn't get it. And… I don't think she knows how bad it gets in here." I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair, knowing he gets it. He must do. My voice faltered a bit, but I didn't stop, couldn't stop now that I'd started talking. "She thinks I should just snap out of it, that I should be fine. But I'm not. And I don't know how to tell her that these… Feelings… Are building something. I can't even name them, they're just there."

I wanted to apologise for rambling, but the words were already out, spilling in a way that felt oddly freeing, even if it made me feel vulnerable.

Edward stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving me. He didn't rush to fill the silence, instead letting it settle between us. It felt like he was truly absorbing it, like he wasn't just waiting for his turn to speak but actually processing everything I'd just shared. His fingers rested lightly on his notepad, but he didn't make any immediate notes. He didn't seem to be in any hurry.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice still soft but steady. "It sounds like you're carrying a lot of weight, Bella," he said gently, his tone reflective. "And I hear you. The way you're feeling… it's hard when the people closest to you don't quite understand. When they don't see things the way you do." He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"It's not easy to explain something like this to someone who doesn't feel it themselves, anxiety for instance. Your mom probably cares a lot, but she might not know how to help, or even what it feels like for you. That can make it harder, can't it?"

He leaned forward just a little, his posture still open, but there was a softness to his expression now, a quiet understanding that made it easier to breathe.

"You're certainly not alone in feeling this way, Bella. And you're not wrong for being here, or for needing help to make sense of everything. It's okay to have these feelings, and it's okay to ask for support."

His voice was gentle, like the words were meant to be a small reassurance, a reminder that I wasn't doing anything wrong by seeking out the space I needed to figure things out. It felt like a tiny, fragile weight lifting off me, even as the bigger pieces still loomed.

I shook my head, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "But what if I don't even know why I'm feeling like this? What if there's no reason? Everybody struggles, right? Everybody has their moments, their bad days. I should be no different. Maybe I'm just making a bigger deal out of it than it is."

I let out a shaky breath, the doubt creeping in, making everything feel heavier. My fingers kept moving, picking at the frayed edges of my sleeve again, the repetitive motion almost grounding me, but not quite. "Maybe I'm just being selfish, thinking I need... this," I waved a hand between us, gesturing to the whole room, the quiet, the strange calm. "Maybe I'm just supposed to deal with it, like everyone else does. Maybe I'm just weak."

I could feel the knot in my chest tighten, and I hated the way the words sounded, but they kept slipping out of my mouth anyway. There was a part of me, deep down, that felt like I didn't deserve to be here, didn't deserve to take up space or time, because my problems seemed so small compared to what everyone else had to face.

Edward remained calm, his eyes steady and compassionate as he listened, taking in everything I said without interruption. He didn't seem rattled or impatient, even as I let the words spill out in a tangle of confusion and self-doubt. Instead, he gave me the space I needed, letting the silence hang for a moment before speaking again, his voice soft but unwavering.

"Bella," he said gently, his tone reassuring but not dismissive, "I hear you. And it's okay to feel confused. It's okay to not have all the answers right now." He leaned forward just slightly, his expression sincere. I resisted watching the way the light caught his eyes, or how the seemed so utterly focus on mine. "But just because everyone struggles doesn't mean your own struggle means any less. Or that you have to keep it inside just because you think someone else may have it worse. Everyone's experience is their own. What you're feeling is real, and it matters. It's not weak to ask for help or to need some time to understand it."

He paused, his eyes meeting mine with quiet understanding. "Sometimes it's not about knowing why we feel the way we do right away. Sometimes, it's just about letting ourselves feel it and being open to what we might discover along the way. You're not making a bigger deal out of it than it is. You're acknowledging that something is off, and that's an important first step. You should be proud of yourself for recognising it. A lot of people don't."

Edward sat back, but the warmth in his gaze didn't waver. "This space is for you to work through it, however long that takes. You don't need to have it all figured out today. You don't have to know everything. You're here, and that's enough for now."

I swallowed hard, my fingers still twisting nervously in my lap.

His words didn't quite sink in, not all the way. I could hear what he was saying, but it felt like they bounced off something inside me, like they didn't quite reach the place where I was holding all my frustration..

"I don't know if I can do this," I said again, this time the words feeling heavier. I looked down at my hands, watching them twist together like I was trying to pull myself apart. As if tugging on the loose strands of my jumper, tugging on the threads would pull apart my insides and unravel everything so I could finally piece it together. All of the thoughts and feelings I struggled to name would be laid bare before us and he could help me tag and order it all with ease. "I don't know if I can actually figure out why I feel like this. Maybe it's just me. Maybe there's something wrong with me that can't be fixed."

There was a bitter taste in my mouth as I spoke, and I hated that it was coming out like this, like I couldn't even believe the things I was saying. Even as he tried to reassure me, it felt like I was too tangled up in everything to let it in.

Edward remained calm, but I could see the slightest shift in his expression, like he understood how deeply the words had cut, even if I couldn't fully process them.

"I don't believe that, Bella," he said quietly, and his voice was even softer than before, like he was carefully choosing each word. "You're not broken, you're not something that needs to be fixed. You are whole as you are. You're just… struggling with things that are difficult to figure out. And that's okay. It doesn't make you any less of a person."

But I wasn't sure it was okay. I wasn't sure I was ready to believe that. His words felt almost too kind, too understanding, like he was speaking from a place of wisdom I didn't have access to. Maybe he was right, maybe he was telling the truth, but it didn't change how small I felt in this moment, how stuck in my own head I was. I had an urge to roll my eyes but held it back. He seemed genuine, and disrespecting the only man who was willing to help me right now was not on my bucket list.

"I don't know," I muttered, avoiding his gaze now, focusing instead on the small details in the room. The way the light hit the vase, how the shadows seemed to stretch across the carpet in the corners. Anything to keep my mind busy, because if I didn't, it might start spiralling again.

"I don't know if I'm ready to believe that I'm not broken," I whispered, barely audible. "It feels like I am."

I let my gaze drift back to Edward, though I wasn't really sure why. Maybe I was trying to distract myself from the way everything inside me felt twisted and wrong and spiked, or maybe I just didn't want to face the feelings I was trying to dismiss. But there he was, sitting across from me, so calm, so composed. It almost felt like a contrast to the mess I felt inside.

His cool exterior radiating a calmness, it thrummed through his office like a wave.

I noticed the way his clothes fit. Well-tailored, clean, neat, like he had everything together in a way I didn't. His shirt was slightly rolled at the cuffs, exposing a small sliver of a tattoo that crept up his arm. The sleeves were long enough to show a glimpse of his golde watch, and the light caught the metal in such a way that it almost shimmered. It was as if everything about him had been placed in just the right way, effortlessly.

The sunlight coming through the window brushed his hair, turning it into soft waves of copper, catching the light in a way that made it look like he was bathed in a golden halo. His jawline was sharp, his mouth firm but gentle when he spoke. His clean-shaven face didn't have any sharp edges, but instead, everything about him seemed so carefully put together. Even his posture, the way he sat so still, his legs uncrossed, his hands relaxed but not too much.

There was something about him that made me feel... small. Like the mess of everything inside me was too much compared to the simplicity of how he seemed to exist in the world.

I caught myself staring for a moment too long, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Quickly, I looked away again, but his presence was still there, grounding and steady, while mine felt anything but.

It was hard to keep talking, like my words were trapped somewhere deep inside, and I wasn't sure how to pull them out. The silence between us stretched thickly, making my thoughts feel more tangled than ever. I felt my throat tighten again, and the lump inside me grew heavier, pressing down, making it hard to breathe.

Edward seemed to sense it, his gaze softening as he reached for a glass on the table between us. "Would you like some water?" he asked, his voice as gentle as before, as if offering something simple could somehow ease the weight I was carrying. I nodded, grateful for the gesture, and he handed me the glass, the cool surface of it a small comfort in my trembling hands.

As I took a sip, the slight movement of his hand caught my eye. He was reaching for something from one of the shelves behind him. It was a book, the title just barely visible from where I sat. Dealing with Anxiety - a straightforward title, one that somehow made the whole situation feel real in a way I wasn't ready for. Edward flipped it open, his fingers skimming the pages for a moment before he spoke again.

"Sometimes, it helps to have something to focus on," he said, looking up at me with a calmness that almost made me believe it was possible to find a way through this. "Anxiety doesn't have to be something you fight alone. There are tools, things we can try together. We can take it slow, bit by bit, until it starts to make sense."

He placed the book on the table between us, open to a page with highlighted sections. I could see the words about grounding techniques, about breathing exercises, but all I could think about was the book itself, the idea that maybe there was a way out of this knot I'd been in for so long.

Just as I thought I might be able to breathe for a moment, a loud knock at the door startled me, making my shoulders stiffen. My mother's voice followed immediately, shrill and impatient, like she couldn't stand to wait another second.

The door cracked open to reveal my mother in all her glory.

"Dr Masen? How much longer is this gonna take? I've got a hair appointment to get to, and traffic this time of day in the city is horrendous. If you could make it quick." She ushered out between plump lips. Her tone was clipped and rude. I could hear the annoyance in her voice, the kind that made me want to sink lower into the chair.

I saw Edward's posture shift just enough to make it clear that my mom's interruption had been a little jarring. His expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, maybe irritation, maybe just the strain of having to deal with her. But he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled, his voice soft and controlled as he turned toward the door.

"Mrs. Swan, I understand your urgency," he said, maintaining a professional tone, his politeness almost too measured. "We'll be wrapping up relatively soon. I just need a few more moments with Bella, so if you wouldn't mind waiting out in the hall I'd greatly appreciate your patience."

He didn't rush his words, but the way he spoke made it clear he wasn't happy with how she'd barged in. Still, he kept his composure, always the doctor, always the calm one.

I shifted in my seat, wishing I could disappear. It wasn't like my mom to be so loud and overbearing - at least not when we were in public - but it always felt like everything became about her once she was in the room. Her voice echoed in my head now, making my chest tighten, and I couldn't help but feel like I was a failure for being here, for needing this. An utter nuisance to her.

I heard her mutter something about getting "this whole thing over with" under her breath before I could hear the door shut and her footsteps retreat down the hall, probably pacing impatiently outside by the registration office. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment, the uncomfortable silence that followed hung in the air like a pendulum.

Edward didn't let it throw him, though. He glanced at me with that same expression, his eyes still warm, though I could see a hint of discomfort behind the calm facade.

"Are you okay, Bella?" he asked, his voice steady and kind. "We don't have to finish now, if you need more time. Just let me know."

I didn't want to leave, not yet. But now, with my mom's interruption ringing in my ears, I wasn't sure how to continue. If I could continue.

Fuck it. I should leave. I've wasted enough of his time. He probably has other people he'd rather be talking to.

I stood up awkwardly, the pressure in my chest tightening as I realised I was about to leave, about to walk away from him. But I couldn't sit there any longer. I didn't have the words, and the room suddenly felt too small. Much like an enclosure waiting to press in on me.

"That's enough for today," I said quickly, my voice coming out quieter than I'd meant. I didn't look at him, because if I did, I might crumble. "I'm not ready to keep going."

Edward didn't push. He didn't try to convince me otherwise, and for some reason, that made it harder. There was no urgency in his response, just a calm understanding that made everything feel like it could wait, like I could come back to this when I was ready. He just nodded, his gaze steady, and his expression didn't shift, but something in his eyes softened, a quiet kind of empathy I wasn't used to.

"Of course," he said, his voice low and even, as if he had all the time in the world, even though I knew he had appointments stacked up. He reached for the book on anxiety from the shelf, his fingers moving with a fluid ease that spoke of confidence, of a man who had done this many times before. When he handed it to me, his touch was gentle, almost deliberate, as if he understood how much a simple gesture could mean in this moment.

"This is for you, Bella," he said, the words so matter-of-fact but still filled with that underlying kindness, then he placed a card on top of the book. "Take this with you. It's a place to start if you'd like, and my card." I felt heat creep up my neck as I read the little numbers pressed into the ivory paper. "My line is open twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. If you need an appointment, or need to connect before our next session, feel free to do so." He smiled again, thought not as bright, simply polite as he waited for a response.

I took the book from his hands, my fingers brushing his for the briefest of moments. I swear something zapped the tips of my fingers, confusion lit my features and he took a composed step back. His arm stretched out to this door.

His posture was open, relaxed, but there was an air of quiet authority in the way he sat, his back straight, hands always steady, like nothing ever rattled him.

He wasn't flashy or loud, nothing about him screamed for attention, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, like he genuinely cared about what you were saying. No matter how small or insignificant it felt. Even now, as I stood there holding the book, his eyes were on me, focused and kind, but with that slight undercurrent of something more, something that told me he knew how much I was struggling, and yet he didn't try to fix it all in one go.

He gave me space to breathe.

"Remember, you don't have to figure everything out all at once," he said softly, his voice steady and unhurried, almost like he was letting me know there was no rush. "We'll take it one step at a time. Whenever you're ready, you control our sessions. I am merely here to help guide you."

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in me, though part of me still wasn't sure if I was ready to believe them. I turned to leave as he opened the door, but something tugged me back for a moment. I glanced over my shoulder, and for a split second, Edward's gaze caught mine, as if he had no doubt that I would be back, that I would eventually find my way.

And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I could.