Christina sat on the porch, staring out into the quiet evening, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was lost in thought, her expression distant. You could tell something was bothering her, but she hadn’t said a word since you got home. You approached quietly, not wanting to startle her.

“Hey,” You said softly, sitting down beside her. “You’ve been quiet today. What’s going on?”

She hesitated for a moment, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her long skirt, and then let out a sigh. “It’s just… everyone,” She said quietly, her voice carrying a tone of defeat. “The way they talk about me sometimes. Like I’m some sort of… weirdo.”

You frowned, not liking where this was going. “What do you mean? Who said something?”

Christina shook her head, her brown hair falling into her face. “It’s not just one person. It’s the way they look at me, you know? The comments. They think I’m… I don’t know… too ‘hippie,’ too ‘out there’ because I talk about energy, or spirits, or the way I feel connected to things they don’t understand. They think I’m living in another world.”

She turned to look at you, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just feel like they don’t get it. Like they don’t get me. And I hate feeling like I’m some sort of outsider just because I see things differently.”