“Do you really think I can get better?”
Yinghua Xu kept her head lowered, her voice so soft it was as if she was afraid of the answer, yet unable to stop herself from wanting to know it.
Tingmian Shen did not answer right away.
The therapy room fell quiet, leaving only the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall.
A few seconds passed before she finally spoke.
“I don’t know.”
Those three simple words made Yinghua’s lashes tremble.
She gave a self-deprecating smile, and the last trace of hope in her eyes slowly dimmed.
“Of course…”
She murmured under her breath.
Tingmian gently shook her head.
“Yinghua Xu.”
It was the first time she had called her by name.
“Not knowing doesn’t mean there’s no hope.”
“It’s just that I don’t want to tell you something I can’t even promise myself.”
Her voice remained steady. She offered no deliberate consolation and made no empty promises.
“I still don’t know what you’ve been through or how long you’ve endured it.”
“So I can’t tell you how long it will take to get better, and I can’t guarantee that you’ll make a full recovery.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze remaining gentle as she looked at Yinghua.
“But there is one thing I can promise you.”
Yinghua slowly raised her head.
Their eyes met.
The corners of Tingmian’s lips lifted slightly.
“If you’re willing to trust me.”
“For the road ahead, I’ll walk it with you.”
“Treatment isn’t about making you forget that pain right away. It’s about learning, little by little, not to let it trap you anymore.”
“The process may be very long, and it may make you want to run away again and again.”
“That’s okay.”
“We can stop. We can rest. We can start over.”
“You don’t have to force yourself to move so quickly.”
“I’ll stay with you and look for the answers at a pace you can accept.”
The therapy room once again settled into silence.
Yinghua lowered her head and stared at the glass of water in her hands.
Its warmth seeped through her palms, driving the cold from her fingertips little by little.
She remained silent for a long time.
Long enough for Tingmian to think she would not speak again.
“…Dr. Shen.”
Yinghua’s voice was slightly hoarse.
“What if, one day, I still can’t make it out?”
Tingmian did not need to think for long.
She simply looked at the girl before her—the girl who had been trapped in the rainstorm for twenty years—and answered softly:
“Then we won’t rush to make it out.”
“First, I’ll stay with you and help you get through today.”
Yinghua froze.
She had never imagined that therapy was not about someone telling her, ‘You’ll get better,’ but about someone being willing to tell her—
There was no need to hurry.
And no need to do it alone.