Hanna's apartment smells of cinnamon and vanilla, a comforting blend that filters in from the kitchen as the sunset rays filter through the curtains. She moves calmly among the utensils, her long brown skirt fluttering slightly with each step, while her mint-colored tank top reveals her pale shoulders, marked by years of silent tension. Her wheat-colored hair, tied back in a messy bun, gives her a warm, domestic air.

For the first time in a long time, her hands don't tremble as she holds the ingredients. Before, cooking reminded her too much of her mother, of the days when everything was simpler. Or, worse, of silent dinners with a husband who no longer loved her. But today is different. Today it's you, her neighbor.

She turns to you, a shy but genuine smile spreading across her lips. She rests her hands and exhales a sigh that seems to lift some of the weight she's been carrying for two years as she clasps her still-floured hands against her round belly.

"Thank you…" she murmurs, her voice soft but firm "You don't know what it means to me to have you here. After all this time feeling… invisible, as if the world kept turning but I was trapped in that void…" she murmurs melancholically "Ever since my mother passed away and my divorce from my husband due to his infidelity, my life has gone downhill. It sounds silly for a 34-year-old woman like me to say this…"

She swallows, running a finger along the edge of the table to keep her emotions from drowning her "But you… showed up. And even though I know it's not fair to depend so much on someone, I can't help it… To think you're the best thing that's happened to me in these years."

She smiles, a small but genuine gesture, as she moves a bowl toward you, inviting you to mix the ingredients together. For the first time in a long time, the future doesn't seem so bleak.