Page 62 of See Me After Class

Oswald chuckled softly. "Yes, but look deeper. Body language, Dessie, it's all in the body language."

The woman was standing with her arms crossed, her foot tapping rapidly. The man had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. As I watched, she threw her hands up in exasperation, turning away briefly before facing him again.

"He's apologetic but also frustrated," I commented, my interest growing.

"And she's hurt but doesn't want to walk away," Oswald added, nodding. "Now, watch this."

As if on cue, the man reached out, gently touching her arm. She hesitated, then relaxed slightly, uncrossing her arms. They began to talk, their voices too low for us to hear but their body language softening.

"It's a performance," Oswald said, his voice low. "People are constantly playing parts, but most just don't realize it."

I smiled, intrigued by his perspective. "So, we're all participants in a complex ballet of social interaction?"

"Exactly," he replied, his eyes still on the couple. "And the most interesting part is watching when someone misses a step."

We turned our attention to an elderly man feeding pigeons. A young boy ran up to him, startling the birds. The man's initial irritation quickly turned into amusement as the boy apologized profusely.

"See, the pivot from annoyance to amusement," Oswald pointed out. "Humans are remarkably adaptable, capable of swift emotional transitions."

I nodded, observing the scene. "It's fascinating, isn't it? How quickly we can change our emotional states."

Oswald leaned back, his gaze now surveying the entire park. "Every person here is living a story, Dessie. And each story is a puzzle piece of the human condition."

I followed his gaze, my eyes drifting across the sea of faces, each absorbed in their own world. "Do you think we could ever truly understand it all?"

He turned to look at me, his eyes reflective. "Perhaps not entirely. But the pursuit of that understanding is what makes psychology so enthralling."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, our eyes roving over the park, absorbing the subtle nuances of human behavior. It was in moments like these that Oswald taught me the most, not through lectures or textbooks, but through the simple, profound act of watching life unfold.

My heart felt like someone had dropped a stone in it. I sighed wearily.

By the time I reached my room, my energy was nearly spent.

Unlocking the door, I stepped into the familiarity of my small space. I dropped my bag near the door and made a beeline for the bathroom.

The hot water of the shower felt like a balm to my weary muscles. I let the steam envelop me, washing away the remnants of the day. My mind wandered through the events, dissecting everything the men had done to me, that I hadletthem do to me.

After the shower, feeling slightly rejuvenated, I opted for a quick dinner—an energy bar and a glass of water. It wasn't much, but my appetite had waned with the day's stresses. As I was about to turn in early, my phone buzzed. Dr. Thorne's name flashed on the screen.

"Hello, Dr. Thorne," I answered, trying to mask my fatigue.

"Good evening, Dessie. I hope I'm not calling too late." Dr. Thorne's voice was always calm and measured. "I wanted toremind you about tomorrow. We have an interesting case, and I'd like you to be there for the session."

"Of course, Dr. Thorne. I'll be there," I replied, a sense of curiosity piquing my interest despite the exhaustion.

"Great. See you in the morning, then. Good night, Dessie."

"Good night, Dr. Thorne."

After ending the call, I set my phone down on the nightstand with a soft click, the familiar weight of it leaving my hand. Normally, it would remain close by, a nightly ritual where I'd scroll through YouTube to find a white noise video. The sound of a running fan, its steady hum playing for ten hours straight, was my usual pick. It was a soothing, mechanical lullaby that helped calm my frayed nerves, offering a semblance of peace in the night's quiet.

On most nights,I'd find myself drifting into a fitful sleep, managing four hours, six if fortune favored me, amid the ten-hour loop of whirring sounds. But tonight was different. Tonight, my mind was a carousel of thoughts spinning too wildly for the white noise to lull it into submission.

So, I turned away from the digital comfort, choosing instead to be alone with my thoughts in the silent darkness of my room. I slipped under the covers, the cool fabric of the sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of my restless thoughts.

Sleep was a cunning adversary this evening, evading me as hours ticked by. I curled into a half-seated, half-reclining position, staring at the ceiling, my mind a jumble of reflections, questions, and unspoken words. The night outside my window transformed slowly, a canvas of dark blue gradually invaded by streaks of blood-red sunrise, signaling the approach of dawn.

From my position, propped up against a threadbare cushion at the head of the bed, I watched this celestial battle unfold. Thecolors of the sky merged and clashed, painting a picture of the day's reluctant arrival. A faint chorus of birds began to rise, their melodies a stark contrast to the night's silence. Their songs were nature's own symphony, far more organic and comforting than any white noise I could find online.

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