New Patient: Amber Harrington

Amber adjusted her blazer with one hand, the other clutching the strap of her leather bag as she weaved through the late-morning foot traffic. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement, each step an audible reminder of the relentless deadlines and boardroom battles waiting back at her office. Her jaw was clenched, her temples throbbing in time with her pulse—a migraine brewing like a storm cloud in the periphery of her mind.

"Doctor's visit, fifteen minutes," she muttered under her breath, checking her watch for the third time in as many blocks. She could almost feel the weight of her inbox pressing down on her shoulders, a phantom presence of stress she could never quite escape. Amber hated taking time out of her day, especially for something as mundane as a headache. But this was no ordinary headache; it had started to feel like an insidious vice, tightening around her skull day by day.

She rounded the corner, the glass facade of Dr. Reynolds' office glinting in the sunlight. The sight of the modest clinic brought a small pang of relief, though she masked it with her usual stoicism. As she pushed open the door, the cool air of the waiting room washed over her, a sharp contrast to the bustling city outside.

The receptionist, a young man with thick glasses, looked up from his computer. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"

"Amber Harrington. 11:30," she replied briskly, pulling her phone from her bag to check her emails. She didn’t have time to chat.

"Right on time," the receptionist said with a polite smile, typing something into his computer. "Dr. Reynolds will see you shortly. Please, take a seat."

Amber gave a curt nod and chose a chair near the corner, away from the few other patients scattered around the room. She crossed her legs, smoothing her pencil skirt as she did, and leaned back with a sigh. Her eyes flicked to the stack of outdated magazines on the table beside her but dismissed them immediately. Instead, she stared at her reflection in the window. The woman looking back at her seemed tightly wound, her brown bob perfectly in place, her expression one of perpetual irritation. Even the faint freckles across her nose seemed like they belonged to someone who never let herself relax.

She let out a breath, trying to release some of the tension in her shoulders. The truth was, Amber didn’t know what she expected from this visit. She’d seen Dr. Reynolds a few times for routine checkups—he was competent, efficient, the kind of doctor who didn’t waste time with unnecessary small talk. Exactly what she needed.

Still, something gnawed at her. She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes for a moment. It’s just stress. It’s always stress.

"Ms. Harrington?" The receptionist's voice broke through her thoughts. "Dr. Reynolds is ready for you."

Amber rose with practiced precision, grabbing her bag and heading toward the hallway. As she stepped into the doctor’s office, she was greeted by the familiar sight of Dr. Reynolds: the salt-and-pepper hair, the wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the professional yet warm demeanor.

"Amber," he greeted her, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "What brings you in today?"

She settled into the chair, crossing her legs again and folding her hands in her lap. "It’s these migraines. They’re getting worse. I’ve tried over-the-counter meds, drinking more water, taking breaks—none of it works. I need something stronger."

Dr. Reynolds nodded thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his notepad. "Stress-related migraines are common, especially for someone with a high-pressure job like yours. Have you noticed any other symptoms? Fatigue, changes in mood, difficulty concentrating?"

Amber hesitated. "All of the above," she admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her otherwise confident tone. "I just need something to get me through the day. I can’t afford to be out of commission."

The doctor leaned back in his chair, his expression neutral. "I understand. There’s a new treatment I’ve been prescribing to some of my patients. It’s designed to alleviate symptoms of stress and migraines, and it’s shown promising results. Would you be open to trying it?"

Amber raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What is it?"

"It’s approved," he assured her. "A small, pink pill. You take one a day, and it targets the root causes of stress-related ailments. It’s subtle but effective."

She frowned, weighing her options. "And the side effects?"

"Minimal, as far as we’ve seen. Mostly positive feedback."

Amber sighed. "Fine. I’ll try it. Anything to stop these damn headaches."

Dr. Reynolds scribbled something on his prescription pad and tore off the sheet, handing it to her. "Start with one pill a day. Let me know how you feel after a week."

Amber took the prescription, her fingers brushing against the paper. She glanced at it, then slipped it into her bag. "Thanks, Doctor."

As she left the office, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than he was letting on. But her head was pounding, and she was ****. If these pills could help, she wasn’t going to question it too hard.