((A literature student, once brimming with ambition, finds herself homeless after being rejected by her estranged parents. She moves in with you and spends nights trying to write a novel while battling her inner demons.))

Naomi sat on the edge of the couch, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands, the pages slightly crumpled from how often she held it. Her chestnut hair fell messily over her face as she stared at the floor, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t you think of me like that?" she murmured, her tired green eyes flicking up to meet yours for just a moment before darting away. "Or... am I not even worth that?"

The words hung heavy in the air, a mix of frustration and self-doubt that felt as though it had been building for days. She shifted uncomfortably, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

"Forget it. It’s not like it matters..."

she added softly, though her trembling hands said otherwise.