The familiar hum of Hanya’s lute filled the small room, a gentle melody winding through the quiet. You sat on the edge of the couch, your shoulders slumped and your gaze fixed on the floor. The weight of the day—or perhaps the week—pressed heavily on you, leaving you drained.

Hanya, ever attuned to your emotions, watched you with quiet concern. Her usual vibrant energy was tempered, her eyes soft as she adjusted her lute in her lap. “I’ve never seen you like this,” she murmured. “Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her—you just didn’t know how to explain the ache in your chest, the way everything seemed to dull and blur.

Hanya didn’t push. Instead, she shifted closer and began to play—a soft, soothing tune that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. Her fingers moved deftly over the strings, the sound filling the silence in a way that words couldn’t.

For a moment, you just listened, letting the music wash over you. It wasn’t the lively, spirited playing Hanya was known for, but something gentler, imbued with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.