Chapter 1 - The Appointment

   Chapter 1: The Appointment

The needle was still in his arm when they found him.

Dwayne Walker sat slumped on his living room couch, shirt half open, eyes glassy and unfocused. Once the picture of promise, a 26-year-old African American tech prodigy with a sharp jawline, warm brown skin, and effortless charm, he now looked like a ghost of himself. His frame, once athletic from late-night gym sessions and early-morning jogs, had thinned out. Days of not eating right, weeks of restless sleep, and months of emotional wear had left him gaunt and hollowed. His usually sharp fade had grown uneven, and the stubble along his jaw gave him a worn, restless look.

Dwayne had always been the kind of man who made people believe in something, his friends, his community, even strangers. People trusted him. Maybe it was the way he listened like your words mattered, or how his mind worked like clockwork, brilliant, methodical, always ten steps ahead. He had created Save Me, the app that connected people in emotional crisis with real-time help, becoming a rising name in tech and mental health advocacy. But no one saw what he carried privately. The pressure. The expectations. The loneliness.

The sun spilled through the blinds in sharp lines, slicing across the glass bottles littering the floor. His best friend, Marcus, stood frozen in the doorway, staring at him like he had just walked in on a stranger.

“Dwayne, what the hell, man?”

Dwayne blinked slowly, barely registering the voice. The world was muffled, like it was underwater. The weight of the past few months, the late nights, the empty bottles, the endless parties, had finally collapsed on top of him. And now, here he was, the genius behind Save Me, the app designed to help people in crisis, in the middle of his own.

That was the day everything changed.

His friends staged the intervention that night. His sister cried. His mom prayed. And for the first time in his life, Dwayne was not in control. He just listened.

A week later, he found himself sitting in the waiting room of a psychologist’s office, flipping through a magazine he was not reading, wondering how the hell he ended up here.

When the receptionist called his name, he stood and walked toward the door with the kind of hesitation you only see in people who know they are about to face something uncomfortable and real.

The door opened.

He froze.

The psychologist was not what he expected. No older man in suspenders and wire-rim glasses. No cluttered office smelling of books and old furniture.

Instead, she was standing near the window, silhouetted by sunlight. Her presence was calm but commanding. Mid thirties, caramel complexion, and eyes sharp enough to cut through him. Her tailored dress hugged her frame, but it was her confidence that struck him hardest. He caught a glint of light reflecting off Dr. Jackson’s hand. She had lifted it briefly to adjust her glasses, and for a second, the large, elegant wedding ring on her finger caught his eye. It was impossible to miss, an oval-cut diamond framed in a vintage setting, bold but tasteful. The kind of ring that did not just say “married,” but “chosen, without hesitation.” She looked like someone who had seen a hundred versions of him before and was not impressed by any of them.

“You must be Dwayne,” she said, gesturing toward the chair across from hers.

He nodded slowly, still trying to shake off the surprise. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m Dr. Aaliyah Jackson,” she said. “Let’s begin.”

One Week Later

Dwayne lounged sideways on a gray couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. His legs dangled over the edge like he did not care if he was there or not.

Across the room, Dr. Jackson sat upright in her leather chair, pen poised just above her notepad. Calm. Composed. Beautiful, in a way that annoyed him more than it should have.

“Doc,” he said, breaking the silence, “I think I have a problem.”

She looked up.

“I’ve been coming here a week now, and I don’t feel any different. What exactly am I paying you for?” His voice was laced with sarcasm, but something behind his eyes gave him away. He was not just being difficult. He was testing her.

Aaliyah studied him for a moment, then calmly returned to her notepad and jotted something down. “Dwayne, there is a process we have to go through. Nothing about this happens overnight. But if you really want this to work, you need to open up. I get the feeling you have only scratched the surface of what you are really dealing with.”

He gave her a half smirk. “If I knew what was wrong, I wouldn’t be here.”

“What you told me before, feeling off, disconnected, that did not start yesterday. Something happened. Let’s start from there. What changed?”

He turned his head toward the ceiling and exhaled deeply. A long pause stretched between them.

Finally, he muttered, “I don’t know, Doc. Everything just feels... heavy.”

Aaliyah leaned forward slightly. “Heavy how?”

She lowered her hand again, unbothered, her face unreadable. But the ring stayed in his mind, like a quiet punctuation mark at the end of a sentence he had not read yet.

Before he could answer, he sat up, frustrated. “Forget it. I’m really starting to think you’re wasting my time.”

Aaliyah did not flinch. “Let’s make a deal. If this process does not help you, not even a little, I will refund your money. Every session.”

Dwayne chuckled dryly. “I don’t need a refund, Doc. I’m not broke.”

“Then what do you want?”

He tilted his head and grinned. “If this does not work, you do something for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Dwayne walked over, tore a page from her notebook, scribbled something, folded it once, and handed it to her.

Aaliyah hesitated, then unfolded the paper and immediately laughed. “There is no way I’m doing that.”

“Maybe,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re deflecting again.”

He did not answer. His eyes drifted to the ceiling once more.

Dr. Jackson crossed one leg over the other and let the silence settle. It was not awkward, not for her. It was strategic. She knew silence had a way of drawing out the truth.

“You ever meet someone,” he said slowly, “who walks into your life like a question you never wanted to answer?”

Dr. Jackson tilted her head slightly. “Sounds poetic.”

He smirked. “I have my moments.”

She waited.

He dragged a hand across his jaw, like the memory had a texture he could wipe off. “She was not the problem, you know. I mean, not entirely.”

“Okay,” Dr. Jackson said evenly. “Tell me more about this not problem.”

He chuckled softly. “You’re good.”

“I try.”

Dwayne leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “She was a storm. The beautiful kind. You see it coming from miles away, but you just stand there anyway. No umbrella. No plan.”

“Sounds like you let yourself get soaked,” she said.

He looked up at her, half smiling. “You always talk in metaphors, or is this just a ‘match my energy’ thing?”

She did not answer. She returned the smile with that same calm, unreadable gaze.

He nodded. “Sienna.”

He did not say anything else for a moment. He let her name hang in the air like a note waiting for the next chord.

“I used to jog early. Like, before the city wakes up. It cleared my head. No notifications, no expectations. Just pavement, rhythm, and silence.” He smiled faintly. “Then one day, she was just there. Same trail. Bright pink hoodie. Long legs. No makeup. Just natural, breathless beauty. And she ran like she was chasing something invisible.”

Dr. Jackson tilted her head slightly. “Did you speak?”

“Not the first few times. We just kept passing each other. She would nod. I would nod back. It became this silent routine. Familiar.” He paused, staring off like he could still see her on that trail. “Then one day, she slowed down to tie her shoe right when I was passing. I stopped. She said, ‘You always look like you’re running from something.’”

“And were you?” Dr. Jackson asked.

Dwayne gave a short laugh. “Guess I still am.”

He leaned back, arms folded. “We started running together after that. Not every day, but enough. She asked questions that made me think. Made me feel seen. And she listened, really listened. It was easy. For a while.”

Dr. Jackson waited.

“But then came the switch. She started missing runs. Texts slowed down. One minute we were talking about traveling together, next minute she was saying she needed time to figure things out.” He shook his head. “She did not want labels. Did not want pressure. Said I made her feel too anchored.”

“How did that make you feel?”

He smiled thinly. “We are back to that question again, huh?”

She returned the smile. “I told you, it works.”

He exhaled through his nose. “It made me feel disposable. Like I was something she picked up on her morning route and decided to drop halfway through.”

“You said she made you feel seen. What do you think she saw?”

He went quiet. Then said, “Someone solid. Safe. I think she liked that, until she didn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now?” He looked up at Dr. Jackson, eyes tired but honest. “Now I am the one trying to figure out if the version of me she liked even exists without her around.”

Dr. Jackson was quiet a moment. Then, softly, “Maybe that version of you was real, but it was not complete. Maybe what you are feeling now is just the part you skipped over trying to hold on to her.”

Dwayne’s throat tightened. He looked away.

“Maybe,” he whispered.

Dr. Jackson did not speak. She did not have to. The silence between them thickened like fog curling in at the edge of something darker. Dwayne sat still, but his mind was racing, back to the trail, to the missed calls, to the last message Sienna never replied to.

His jaw tightened.

There were things he had not told her yet. Things he had not told anyone. The kind of truth that does not come out clean, no matter how carefully you speak it. He glanced at Dr. Jackson’s wedding ring again, then looked away.

“It’s complicated,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She finally broke the silence. “So unravel it.”

Dwayne leaned forward, eyes darkening. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

And just like that, the session was over.

But the real story, the part that broke him?

That had not even begun.