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MidReal Story
The Boy And His Bud
Scenario:The waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paperbacks. Eunchae, all sharp angles and bored indifference in her oversized hoodie, slumped onto a floral armchair, its fabric scratchy against her jeans. At sixteen, she possessed the weary cynicism of someone twice her age, a cynicism born not of experience, but of a keen intellect perpetually underestimated. She’d rather be anywhere else – anywhere but here, subjected to her parents’ well-meaning but infuriating insistence that she needed “help.”Her parents have forced her into therapy.
The door opened, and a woman with bright, curious eyes entered. Yunjin. She wasn’t the stereotypical, soft-spoken therapist Eunchae had imagined. Yunjin was young, barely older than a college student, with a playful energy that didn’t feel condescending, but rather…challenging.
“Eunchae?” Yunjin asked, her voice warm but direct.
Eunchae grunted in response, not bothering to look up.
Yunjin didn’t seem fazed. She pulled out a chair opposite Eunchae, her posture relaxed, but attentive. “So, your parents said you’re…not thrilled to be here?”
“Understatement of the century,” Eunchae muttered, finally meeting Yunjin’s gaze. Her eyes, dark and expressive, held a spark of defiance.
Yunjin smiled, a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I get that. Therapy isn't exactly at the top of anyone's fun list.” She paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “Unless you're, like, a really emotionally stunted sociopath who actually enjoys dissecting your inner demons.”
Eunchae snorted, a genuine laugh bubbling up despite herself. “I’m definitely not a sociopath. Just…bored.”
“Bored with life? Bored with therapy? Or bored with the implication that you need therapy?” Yunjin pressed gently.
Eunchae shrugged. “All of the above, I guess.” She crossed her arms, the defiance in her eyes hardening slightly. “What’s the point? I’m fine. Perfectly functional.”
“Functional but bored,” Yunjin echoed, her tone thoughtful. "Is the boredom…a symptom, or a cause?"
Eunchae considered this, a flicker of something – maybe surprise, maybe interest – crossing her face. “I don't know,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I just…feel like everyone’s expecting something from me that I don’t have. Like I'm supposed to be…more.”
Yunjin leaned forward, her expression empathetic. “More what? More enthusiastic? More driven? More…something you can’t quite put your finger on?”
Eunchae stared at her feet, kicking at the leg of the chair. “Yeah,” she whispered, the word barely audible. “More, I guess.”
Yunjin nodded, her gaze kind but insightful. “Okay. Let’s explore that ‘more.’ But first,” she gestured to a small, brightly colored box on her desk, “do you want a gummy bear? They’re surprisingly effective at managing existential dread.”
A genuine smile finally broke across Eunchae's face. “Existential dread? You’re alright,” she conceded, reaching for a gummy bear. The cynicism remained, but for the first time, a tiny crack had appeared in its seemingly impenetrable wall. The fight was far from over, but maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be a complete waste of time.
Create my version of this story
Eunchae
She is a teenager struggling with the pressure of her parents' high social expectations. She is sarcastic, skeptical, and introspective. Eunchae is forced into therapy by her parents, where she meets a unique and refreshing therapist named Yunjin. Despite initial resistance, Eunchae finds herself drawn to Yunjin's unconventional approach and genuine demeanor. She shares her frustrations and thoughts with Yunjin, feeling a rare sense of understanding and comfort during their sessions.
Yunjin
She is a young therapist with a playful yet empathetic approach to counseling. She is unconventional, genuine, and approachable. Yunjin defies Eunchae's expectations of what a therapist should be like, offering gummy bears and a relaxed atmosphere. Her youthful energy resonates with Eunchae, creating a connection built on shared humor and understanding. Yunjin challenges Eunchae to reflect on her feelings and perceptions, helping her navigate the complexities of their shared cultural context.
The waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paperbacks.
I flopped down into a floral armchair, the fabric scratchy against my jeans.
My mom was going to have a fit when she found out I’d ruined her favorite chair.
But I was sixteen and bored, and boredom made me want to set things on fire.
Not that I was actually going to do that.
Probably.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, scrolling through social media with a sigh.
Everyone was having more fun than me.
Everyone was more interesting, more popular, more loved.
"Can I get you to fill out this?"
A woman stood in the doorway with a clipboard, a polite smile on her face.
"Your first session?"
I nodded, not bothering to look up.
"Yeah."
"Great," she said, handing me the clipboard and a pen.
"Then let’s get started."
I took the clipboard and stared at the form, not bothering to read it.
Did it matter what I put down?
Probably not.
The questions were all standard—name, age, favorite hobby (which I’d left blank because did I really need to confess to being a professional gummy bear eater?).
The woman returned with a bright smile and took the clipboard from my hands.
"Great, thank you. Eunchae?"
I nodded, still not looking up.
"Yes."
"Then let’s get started," she said again, gesturing toward the door.
"Follow me, please."
I pushed myself up from the armchair, my movements deliberately slow and heavy.
The scratchy fabric caught on my jeans, making an annoying sound that matched my mood.
My phone slid into my hoodie pocket with a soft thump.
The woman waited patiently by the door, still wearing that bright smile that was starting to get on my nerves.
The hallway beyond was long and sterile, lined with closed doors marked with names I didn’t care to read.
My sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as I dragged my feet, maintaining a careful distance behind the woman.
"So, what brings you here today?" she asked, glancing back at me with a curious tilt of her head.
"My mom thinks I need to talk to someone," I replied, trying to sound indifferent but feeling the weight of the words.
"Well, sometimes talking can help us understand things we didn't even know were bothering us," she said gently, her eyes softening as if she knew more than she let on.
I slouched in the chair, watching as she settled behind her desk.
It was a typical therapy room—neutral colors, comfortable chairs, and a faint scent of fresh air.
She introduced herself as Yunjin and asked me to call her by that name instead of "doctor."
I rolled my eyes, another adult trying too hard to be relatable.
"So, I saw that you left the hobbies section blank," she said, glancing at the form.
"Do you have any interests you'd like to share?"
I shrugged, staring at the wall behind her.
"Not really."
She nodded, pulling out a bag of gummy bears from her desk drawer.
"Would you like one?"
My stomach growled at the familiar sweet scent, but I shook my head.
"No thanks."
Yunjin placed the bag on the table between us, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing look that made me feel seen for the first time.
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, determined to keep my wall of silence intact.
Yunjin tries again, her voice soft and patient.
"So, how's school?"
I roll my eyes and mutter a one-word answer, "Fine."
She nods, undeterred.
"Do you have any friends there?"
"Sure," I reply with a shrug, avoiding her gaze.
"What kind of music do you like?"
I scoff, knowing this is just another basic question.
"Does it matter?"
Yunjin leans forward slightly, her eyes locked on mine.
"I'm just trying to get to know you better."
I scoff again, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Okay then."
She pauses, studying me for a moment before speaking again.
"I noticed your phone case has the same band logo as one of my favorite groups. Do you like them too?"
I snort, rolling my eyes once more.
"You're really trying too hard to relate."
The gummy bears sit untouched between us, their artificial sweetness mixing with the sterile office air.
Yunjin leans back in her chair, unfazed by my hostility.
"How about your parents? What's your relationship like with them?"
I lean back in my chair, eyeing Yunjin as she asks about my relationship with my parents.
Perfect opportunity to show off my sharp tongue.
"Oh, you mean the people who think throwing money at problems fixes everything?" I say with exaggerated sweetness.
Yunjin nods thoughtfully, which irritates me more – I want her to react, to show some sign that my words sting.
"That's interesting," she says, her voice calm and measured.
"Sometimes, when we lash out at others, it can be a sign of how we're really feeling about ourselves."
I cut her off with a theatrical laugh.
"Wow, did you get that from Psychology 101?"
Yunjin maintains her composure, but I catch a slight tightening around her eyes.
Finally, a reaction.
I slouch deeper in the chair, determined to outlast her patience.
She mirrors my posture, crossing her legs and settling in like we have all day.
"So, why do you think you're here?" she asks again.
I bite back with a snarky remark, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because rich people like to pay strangers to pretend to care about their problems?"
Yunjin raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing through my facade.
"That's quite a strong opinion for someone who claims not to care," she says, her voice steady.
I open my mouth to fire back another witty remark, but pause.
She's called my bluff.
I stare at the clock on Yunjin's wall, counting down the minutes until I can escape this room.
She leans forward slightly, her eyes fixed on mine.
"So, how was your week?" she asks, her voice still patient and soft.
I give her nothing but eye rolls and shrugs.
She nods thoughtfully, as if she expected as much.
"I noticed you're sitting a bit more rigidly than usual," she comments.
"Is everything okay?"
I scoff and slouch even further in my chair, determined to prove her wrong.
Yunjin picks up one of the gummy bears from the bowl between us, examining it thoughtfully before popping it into her mouth.
The sweet smell wafts towards me, making my stomach growl again.
I clench my jaw and look away.
"Sometimes, when we're uncomfortable or defensive, we use physical postures to protect ourselves," Yunjin says, her voice steady.
"It's a defense mechanism."
I cut her off with a fake yawn, stretching my arms over my head.
Yunjin just smiles knowingly, like she sees right through me.
But as the clock ticks away, I can't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she does.
I lean against the wall, watching Yunjin scribble notes in her leather-bound notebook.
Every few minutes, she glances up with that same understanding smile - the one that's starting to get under my skin.
I can predict her next move: she'll make some insightful observation about my body language, offer another gummy bear, or ask about my feelings with that gentle tone.
When she does exactly that, asking about my crossed arms, I let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Let me guess, this means I'm closing myself off?"
I mock her therapeutic language.
Yunjin responds with another predictable nod, and I feel a surge of satisfaction.
I've figured out her pattern, stripped away the mystery.
But then, she surprises me.
"Or maybe," Yunjin says, her voice dropping to a whisper, "you're just waiting for someone to notice the real you beneath all that armor."
I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected insight.
I slump deeper in the chair, determined to prove her wrong.
She can't see through me that easily.
When she asks again about my silence, I launch into a story about my perfect life - the ideal parents, the doting friends, the academic achievements.
I embellish it with eye rolls and dramatic hand gestures, making sure to keep my tone light and dismissive.
Yunjin listens intently, jotting down notes that make me increasingly agitated.
I snatch another gummy bear from the bowl and pop it in my mouth, chewing aggressively while maintaining eye contact.
The sweetness explodes on my tongue, reminding me of childhood comfort and lazy afternoons spent playing video games with my best friend.
But I push that thought away, focusing on the bitterness that follows.
I swallow hard, maintaining my facade of indifference as Yunjin continues to scribble in her notebook. Finally, she looks up, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"So," she says, her voice soft but probing, "tell me more about this perfect life of yours."
I smirk, launching into another exaggerated tale of academic achievements and social triumphs.
But as I speak, I can't shake the feeling that Yunjin sees right through me - that she's waiting for me to drop the act and reveal the real me beneath.
When I finish speaking, she nods thoughtfully and jots down another note in her book.
I can't help but wonder what she's written - something about my obvious insecurities or my desperate need for validation?
I lean forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of her handwriting.
But before I can see anything, Yunjin closes her notebook and smiles at me again - that same understanding smile that's starting to get under my skin. "You know," she says softly, "sometimes it's okay to admit that things aren't perfect. That we're not always as strong as we seem."
I roll my eyes again, determined to maintain my facade of indifference.
"Yeah, sure," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest once more.
"But who needs vulnerability when you can just pretend everything is fine?"
Yunjin nods thoughtfully again, like she expected as much.
"Maybe," she says gently, "you're just waiting for someone to notice the real you beneath all that armor."
I scoff again, feeling a surge of frustration at her constant attempts to see through me.
But before I can respond, Yunjin stands up and walks over to the water cooler in the corner of her office.
"I'm just going to get a glass of water," she explains, her voice soft.
I nod silently, watching as she disappears from the room.
My eyes dart to her closed notebook on the desk, curiosity gnawing at me.
What has she written about me?
I reach out tentatively, flipping open the cover.
The pages are filled with her neat handwriting, observations about my body language and behavior.
I scan the entries, my heart racing as I read her insights.
"Patient is defensive and dismissive," one entry reads.
"Crossed arms indicate vulnerability."
I swallow hard, feeling a mix of emotions as I read on.
Another entry notes my sarcasm and eye-rolling, interpreting it as a sign of insecurity.
I feel a surge of anger at being so easily read, but then I come across an entry that makes me pause.
"Patient is searching for understanding," it reads.
"Desperate to be seen beyond their armor."
I slam the notebook shut as Yunjin returns, but her footsteps have already stopped in the doorway.
My face burns as I look up to see her standing there, water glass in hand.
Instead of anger or surprise, her expression holds that same gentle understanding that I've grown to hate.
She walks to her desk, sets down the glass, and sits across from me.
The silence stretches between us like a rubber band, pulled taut and ready to snap.
I open my mouth to deny everything, to tell her she's wrong about me.
But before I can speak, she picks up the notebook and slides it across the desk towards me.
"Would you like to read the rest?" she asks softly.
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the cover.
"Why would you let me do that?" I finally ask, suspicion lacing my voice.
"Because," Yunjin replies, her eyes meeting mine with unwavering calm, "sometimes seeing ourselves through someone else's eyes is the first step to understanding who we really are."
With trembling fingers, I take the notebook from her outstretched hand.
The leather cover feels cool against my sweaty palms as I open it again, this time with permission.
My eyes scan the pages, taking in her precise handwriting and observations.
Each entry details our interactions - my defensive posture, the way I deflected questions about hobbies, how I pretended not to want the gummy bears.
It's like reading a script of our conversation, but with added commentary that reveals another layer of myself I thought I'd hidden well.
I pause at an entry where she'd written about my phone case - a faded band logo that holds sentimental value.
"Uses music as both shield and connection," she'd noted.
I swallow hard, my throat tightening at the accuracy of her words.
I close the notebook and place it carefully back on her desk, my fingers lingering on the worn leather cover.
The room feels different now - heavier with understanding but somehow less suffocating.
I grab a gummy bear from the bowl, popping it into my mouth and chewing slowly as I gather my thoughts.
"Thank you," I mumble, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
"For letting me read it."
Yunjin's face lights up with genuine warmth, not the practiced therapist smile I'd grown to hate.
She doesn't push for more or make a big deal of it.
I fidget with the gummy bear wrapper, finally gathering the courage to look at her directly.
The question has been burning in my mind since I started reading her notes.
Yunjin sets down her water glass, considering me thoughtfully before she responds.
"I mean, you wrote about everything - even stupid things like how I always sit."
My voice cracks slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath my usual sarcasm.
I grab another gummy bear, needing something to do with my hands as I wait for her response.
Yunjin leans forward in her chair, her expression open and patient.
"Because the little things matter," she says, her voice gentle but firm.
"They're often the pieces that reveal the most about who we are."
I nod slowly, the weight of her words settling over me like a comforting blanket.
I stare at my hands, still sticky from the gummy bears, as the session's end draws near.
The silence feels different now - less like a weapon and more like a pause between thoughts.
Yunjin starts gathering her things, closing her notebook with deliberate care.
My chest tightens at the thought of leaving this space where someone finally sees me.
Before I can stop myself, I clear my throat and look up at her.
"So, um," I start, my voice smaller than usual, "same time next week?"
The words tumble out quickly, and I immediately grab another gummy bear to hide my nervousness.
Yunjin smiles softly, the kind of smile that holds understanding and no judgment.
"Of course," she says, her voice as gentle as ever.
"We'll schedule another session then."
I grip the gummy bear wrapper tighter, relief washing over me at her response.
My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for my backpack, not wanting to seem too eager about scheduling another session.
The wrapper crinkles loudly in the quiet room.
I stand up slowly, deliberately taking my time gathering my things while stealing glances at Yunjin's notebook on her desk.
She writes something in her calendar, then looks up at me with that same understanding expression that both comforts and unnerves me.
"See you next week," she says, her voice steady and reassuring.
I nod silently, shouldering my backpack and making my way toward the door.
"Hey," I pause, turning back to face her, "do you ever get tired of listening to people like me?"
Yunjin's eyes soften, and she shakes her head slightly.
"Not at all," she replies, her voice steady and sincere.
"It's a privilege to be trusted with someone's story."