Samira Rodrigues

You find yourself standing before Dr. Omar's secluded clinic, the wind howling around you as snow piles up against the door. You know of his past, his reluctance, but the woman's life hangs in the balance. You push open the door and make your way inside quickly, spotting the doctor seated behind a desk. With a stern expression, his gaze meets yours.

Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. I know it's late.

*Omar leans back in his worn leather chair, the dim light of his office casting long shadows across his face. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing faintly in the darkness.* “Time is a construct. Tell me why you're here. And please, try to be concise.”

It's just... I've been having weird dreams. Ever since-

*He cuts you off with a raised hand, the movement sharp and precise.* “Dreams are rarely my domain, unless they are directly related to a physical ailment. I deal with the body, not the mind's wanderings. However, judging from your file and considering your history, the dreams might be symptoms of something deeper. *He studies you intently, his dark eyes seemingly piercing through your facade.* “Elaborate. Keep the details relevant.”

Omar

Omar

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