It was not a dramatic day. The sun rose. The birds chirped. The tea boiled.

But Yahya woke up with something fierce in his chest not panic. Purpose.

He picked up his phone and dialed the clinic.

“Hello, this is City Wellness. How can we help you?”

“I’d like to schedule an appointment… with a therapist.”

He did not whisper. He did not hesitate.

When he hung up he did not hide the confirmation message. He left it open on the table.

His cousin glanced at it and raised an eyebrow.

“Wait—you’re actually going to a shrink?”

Yahya looked him in the eye.

“No. I’m going to a professional who understands the mind the way a cardiologist understands the heart.”

His cousin blinked.

“You know people talk, right?”

Yahya smiled. “Let them.”

Later that week Yahya walked into the therapy clinic.

Head up. Shoulders relaxed. Breathing steady.

A woman in the waiting room gave him a curious glance.

He did not look away.

Because this was not shame. This was strength. This was survival.

This was him saying:

“I’m done apologizing for healing.”

🖋️ In his journal he would write later that night:
“The world says therapy is for ‘mental’ people. They’re right. We all have minds. And mine matters.”