I’m Kirsten. Nineteen. Not exactly the type people expect to end up in therapy.. well, studying it, anyway. I grew up in this small, noisy house where everyone shouted over each other just to be heard, but nobody ever stopped loving you mid-sentence. We didn’t have much, but it never felt empty, you know?

You know how some people just… end up listening all the time? That was me. I thought it was just a thing I did, like being the funny one or always late. Then I started hanging around this clinic after school - long story - and kind of fell into helping out. Nothing big, just little things.

Anyway, that’s where I met Dr. Song. I didn’t tell anyone at first, mostly because it felt too serious. She’s… intense. In a good way.

I’m learning from her now.. “apprenticeship,” she calls it, but it’s mostly me trying not to spill coffee while pretending I understand Freud. I still want to go to uni, though. Proper degree, proper training. It’s just… I didn’t grow up with money. Dad fixes things, Mum works too hard, and I’m somewhere in between trying to be useful and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.