Marcus first noticed her in the coffee shop near his office, sitting by the window with a stack of books beside her. He wouldn't have noticed her at all if she hadn't looked up at exactly the moment he was trying to balance his laptop, phone, and third espresso of the morning, all while attempting to respond to an urgent email from the London office.
"That's quite a lot to carry," she said, her voice gentle but direct. Something in her tone made him pause — she seemed to be talking about more than just the items in his hands.
He managed an awkward smile. "Just one of those days." But even as he said it, he realized it hadn't been just one of those days. It had been one of those months. Maybe years.
"Would you like to set some of it down?" She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "I'm Eleanor, by the way."
"Marcus," he replied automatically. He should say no. He had meetings, deadlines, a team waiting for direction. But instead, he found himself sitting. Maybe it was the way she'd asked — like she actually wanted to hear the answer. Or maybe it was just that his shoulders were aching from carrying more than just his laptop.
She closed her book and waited. Not filling the silence, just holding it open.
"I don't usually..." he started, then stopped. "I mean, I should be heading back to the office."
"Should," she repeated thoughtfully. "That's a heavy word to carry too."
He found himself telling her about the promotion he'd earned six months ago, the increasing pressure, the way his chest felt tight even on Sunday afternoons thinking about Monday morning. She listened differently than his colleagues or even his family — present and attentive in a way that made his own words feel clearer, more real somehow.
"It's like..." he searched for the words. "Like everything's urgent but nothing's clear. Does that make sense?"
She nodded. "Like having an inbox full of unread messages, all marked as urgent?"
"Exactly." He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "And every time I deal with one, three more appear."
"What's the most urgent feeling right now?" she asked, setting her tea cup down. "If you had to open just one message from your body, which one is pressing hardest?"
He started to deflect, then paused, letting himself actually feel it. "My chest. There's this... tightness. Especially when I think about the board presentation next week."
"Mm." She nodded. "And when you let yourself really feel that tightness, what's it trying to tell you?"
"That I'm not ready," he admitted. "I've been so busy responding to everyday fires that I haven't given it the attention it needs." Even saying it out loud made the tightness increase. "God, I should be working on it right now instead of sitting here."
"Notice what just happened," she said gently. "When you actually read the message — that you need more preparation time — it mobilized energy to act. Like opening an email you've been avoiding. Once you really look at it..."
"It demands a response," he finished. "That's why it's easier to just... keep marking things as unread."
"Both with emails and emotions," she agreed. "Opening them means dealing with the energy they contain. But what happens when you leave them unread?"
He thought about his inbox, hundreds of unopened emails creating a constant background hum of anxiety. About all the feelings he'd been pushing aside that still showed up as tension in his shoulders, tightness in his chest, a restlessness he couldn't shake.
"They don't go away," he said slowly. "They just... pile up."
"That's what the tightness was trying to tell you all along." She glanced at her watch, then back at him with a warm smile. "I'll be here tomorrow morning, if you'd like some company while you work on that presentation."
"To co-work?" he asked, surprised by the offer.
She gathered her books. "Sometimes having another person nearby helps us stay with what matters." Standing to leave, she added, "Same time?"
He nodded, realizing he meant it. "Same time."