Newt sat at his small kitchen table, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. His finger hovered over a post from a local therapist.Licensed therapist specializing in anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. DM to book an appointment."I need to talk to someone. A professional. Someone who won't look at me like I've completely lost it." He typed the message quickly.Hi. I'd like to book an appointment as soon as possible. Is there anything available this week?The reply came faster than he expected.Hi, Newt! Thanks for reaching out. I have a cancellation tomorrow at 2 PM. Does that work for you?He confirmed and set his phone down, staring blankly at the wall. "Newt sat in silence, hoping desperately that this might still the voice. It didn't. Instead, it picked apart his every thought, describing the tension in his shoulders, the frantic pace of his heartbeat, and the unease creeping into his stomach. He feared the voice would never stop, a constant companion in a world that felt too loud already."The next day, he walked two miles through the quiet suburban streets. The late afternoon sun beat down on his back, and each step felt like he was dragging himself closer to some unknown judgment. "Newt walked through the streets, his mind a swirl of apprehension and heat, wondering if this would be the day something changed, or if he'd just hear more of the same." The voice followed him, narrating each step, each thought, each glance he cast at the passing houses. "The heat pressed on him, oppressive and unrelenting, like the weight of his own doubts."The therapist's office was in a converted townhouse, the walls painted a calming shade of sage green. A faint smell of lavender wafted through the air as Newt entered. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and took a deep breath.Dr. Elaine Sorensen greeted him warmly, her short blonde hair framing her kind face. "Come on in, Newt. Take a seat."He sank into the plush armchair, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. "I... I hear a voice," he finally said. "But it's not like... voices. It's one voice. It narrates everything I do. My thoughts, my actions, even feelings I didn't know I had until it's said."Dr. Sorensen nodded, her expression calm and professional. "I see. And how long has this been going on?""A few days," Newt replied. He hesitated, then leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "It's not just in my head. It's like... it's real. Like there's someone actually narrating my life. It's so specific, so detailed.""Like, it'll describe what I'm doing right now," Newt said, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. "It's saying: Newt sat in the therapist's office, gripping the arms of the chair tightly as he tried to explain the inexplicable. It says I'm talking to you, and it's narrating that I'm wondering if you think I'm crazy. Do you hear what I'm saying?"Dr. Sorensen set her pen down and looked at him closely. "Newt, what you're describing could be a symptom of schizophrenia. Hearing voices, especially ones that comment on your actions or thoughts, is not uncommon in people with—""It's not like that!" he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "It's not voices telling me to do things or random chatter. It's narrating. Like I'm in a story."Dr. Sorensen tilted her head. "I understand this feels very real to you, but the brain can sometimes create experiences that feel external. Whether it's schizophrenia or something else, there are ways we can help."Newt slumped back in his chair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "You don't get it," he muttered. "It's not my brain making things up. It's like... like I'm a character in a book."She paused for a moment, considering his words. "If that's truly how it feels," she said carefully, "then perhaps you might benefit from consulting someone outside of the field of psychology. Someone who studies literature or storytelling. An author, maybe. They might have insights into why your mind is framing this experience in such a narrative way."Newt frowned, clearly perplexed. "An author? A literature expert?" The suggestion felt bizarre, almost dismissive. "Why would I need to talk to someone like that?"Dr. Sorensen leaned forward slightly, her tone calm and measured. "Because the way you're describing this—as a constant narration, as though you're part of a story—is highly unusual. If this isn't schizophrenia or another psychological condition, perhaps it's your mind's way of processing something deeper. Someone familiar with narrative structures might help make sense of why it's manifesting this way."He left the office feeling more confused than when he arrived. The voice continued as soon as he stepped outside, picking up where it had left off. "Newt stepped into the evening air, his mind a storm of disbelief and frustration. She thinks you're crazy. And maybe you are. But maybe... you're onto something. What kind of therapist sends someone to talk to an author?"