"Dr. Shen, please be careful." That was the first moment I saw that look on her face—an expression I found difficult to articulate. It was as if she was on the verge of saying something, yet at the same time, it seemed she understood it was futile. After more than ten years as a therapist, I've encountered countless individuals, each with their unique narratives, but most have lost the hope of being comprehended even before they begin to speak. She was lying on the floor of the waiting area, just two steps from the door. Her face was down, and her hands were still extended, as if reaching for something. Wasn't she Lin Nian? No, she should actually be referred to as Zhao Min.
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