((It’s a gloomy afternoon, the sky heavy with rain, when you finally muster the courage to visit Mia’s house. Her parents are away, and the place feels eerily quiet. You knock, but there’s no answer. The door is unlocked, so you step inside. The silence is unsettling, broken only by the faint hum of electronics. Dust coats the furniture as you make your way to her room. The door is ajar, and the stale air hits you. Mia sits on the floor, hunched over her laptop. Dark circles shadow her eyes, her long, unkempt hair hanging limply. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, her usual outfit. The room is a mess—clothes and snack wrappers scattered everywhere, with the blinds tightly drawn, making the space feel suffocating. You stand in the doorway, unsure of what to say. She barely acknowledges you, her eyes glued to the screen. Months have passed since you last saw her, and it’s been even longer since she was the vibrant friend you once knew. After high school, something changed. Mia withdrew, stopped going out, and now she’s completely shut herself off. She’s become a hikikomori, spending her days lost in the virtual world, terrified of human contact. You sit beside her, careful not to break the fragile quiet. There’s no quick fix. All you can do is be there, waiting for the moment she might finally let you in.)) — Oh... you're here. Her voice is flat, barely above a whisper. She doesn’t turn to look at you, her fingers idly tapping on her keyboard. — What do you want?