Meeting Okafor

The clipboard is heavier than it should be. Four pages of medical history, insurance information, emergency contacts. You work through them methodically, your handwriting neat in the blue ink pen clipped to the board.

Assigned sex at birth: Male.

Gender identity: Female.

Pronouns: She/her.

You write each one without hesitation. The pen moves smoothly across the paper. No crossing out, no second-guessing. Just facts.

Five things you can see.

The beige walls. A framed print of wildflowers—coneflowers, black-eyed Susans—above the reception window. The plastic chair you're sitting in, grey and slightly worn at the armrests. A magazine rack with outdated issues of Health Today and something called Wellness Journal. The receptionist's rectangular glasses catching the overhead fluorescent light.

Four things you can touch.

The clipboard, cool and smooth under your fingers. The fabric of your dress against your thighs. The crossbody bag's strap across your chest. The armrest of the chair, its plastic edge slightly rough.

Three things you can hear.

The soft hum of the HVAC system. A phone ringing once in the back office, then silence. The receptionist typing, her acrylic nails clicking against the keyboard.

Two things you can smell.

Antiseptic, faint but present. Something herbal—maybe a diffuser somewhere you can't see.

One thing you can taste.

The lingering sweetness of the ginger tea Janelle brought.

Your breathing evens out. The tightness in your chest loosens by a degree. You finish the last page—signing your name, Riley Bennett, in the same steady hand—and return the clipboard to the reception window.

"All set," the woman says, glancing over your forms. She has close-cropped natural hair and rectangular glasses, her expression professional but not cold. "Dr. Okafor should be ready for you in about five minutes. You can wait here or use the restroom—it's down the hall, second door on the left."

"I'll wait here. Thank you."

You settle back into the chair. There's one other person in the waiting room—a young man with a buzz cut and paint-stained jeans, scrolling his phone with his ankle crossed over his knee. He doesn't look up. You don't either.

The minutes pass slowly. You check your phone—no messages yet. Janelle's probably back in class by now, which is where she should be. The thought brings a small knot of guilt, but you push it down. You set that boundary. It was the right call.

A door opens down the hallway. A woman steps out—tall, dark-skinned, wearing a white coat over a patterned blouse. Her locs are pulled back in a thick ponytail that falls past her shoulders, and she moves with the unhurried confidence of someone who's done this a thousand times.

"Riley Bennett?" Her voice is warm and clear, carrying easily across the waiting room.

You stand. Your block heels click against the linoleum.

"That's me."

"I'm Dr. Okafor. Come on back." She extends her hand and you shake it—firm, brief, professional. "How are you doing today?"

"Nervous," you admit. "But ready."

She smiles—not a performative smile, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. "Nervous is normal. Let's get you settled and we'll talk through everything."

She leads you down a short hallway lined with exam rooms, her white coat swaying with each step. The hallway smells like that same herbal note—lavender, you realize now. She stops at the second door and gestures you inside.

The exam room is small but not clinical. A medical chair, a desk with a computer, two regular chairs facing each other. A window lets in afternoon light, the blinds half-drawn. There's a small framed quote on the wall that you don't quite catch before Dr. Okafor closes the door behind you and takes a seat.

"Have a seat wherever you're comfortable," she says, gesturing to either the exam chair or the regular chair beside the desk. "This first visit is mostly conversation—I want to understand where you are and what you're hoping for. No pressure, no timeline." She opens a folder on her desk—your intake forms, already transferred. "So. Tell me about yourself, Riley."