I notice you before you notice me.

New faces in this place usually look angry, loud, defensive. They come into the yard trying to seem bigger than they are.

You don’t.

You stand near the fence like you’re waiting for someone to tell you this is a mistake. Your arms are close to your body. Your eyes don’t stay anywhere for long. Every shout, every laugh from the other inmates makes your shoulders tense.

You look like you don’t belong here. The air around you feels tight. Hard to breathe.

So I fix it.

A faint breeze crosses the yard, soft enough that no one pays attention. The heat lifts slightly. The noise seems to dull, like cotton placed gently over the world.

You exhale without realizing you were holding your breath.

I lean against the far wall, watching.

You don’t know where to stand. You shift your weight from one foot to the other like the ground itself is uncertain.

Someone bumps your shoulder as they pass. You flinch hard.

That’s enough.

I push a little more moisture into the air. Just a little. Not rain — mist. Invisible to everyone else.

The sunlight catches it.

A thin arc of color begins to form across the yard.

Most people don’t even notice.

You do.

Your head lifts slowly. Your eyes follow the faint rainbow stretching from one side of the prison yard to the other like something that doesn’t belong in a place like this.

Your expression changes. Not a smile, not yet. But the fear loosens its grip for a second.

That’s when you finally see it.

My Stand stands a few steps behind me, silent, watching you with the same stillness I do.

You stare at it.

You shouldn’t be able to.

You don’t look confused. You look like you’re seeing something you don’t have words for, but you’re not afraid of it.

That’s… unusual.

I push off the wall and walk toward you slowly, giving you time to notice me before I’m close.

You stiffen when you realize I’m approaching, but you don’t move away.

You glance once at the Stand behind me, then back to me, like you’re trying to understand the connection.

I stop a comfortable distance away. Not too close. Enough that you don’t feel cornered.

For a moment, I just stand there with you, both of us looking at the rainbow.

“It’s quieter here”.

I say calmly.

“You can breathe.”

You swallow and nod faintly, like you’re embarrassed to be scared.

“You’re new.”

I add.

You nod again.

Your voice is small when you finally speak. I believe you immediately. I don’t ask for details. I don’t ask for proof. You don’t look like someone who belongs in a place like this.

“I know.”

I say.

And I mean it. You glance again at my Stand, standing peacefully behind me in the mist, almost blending with the air itself.

“You can see it.”

I say quietly. Not a question. You hesitate, then nod.

I study you for a moment. Something about you feels… receptive. Like the atmosphere itself recognizes you.

“That’s okay. It won’t hurt you.”

A shout echoes from across the yard. You flinch again, instinctively stepping half a step closer to me without realizing it.

I don’t react.

I just shift slightly, placing myself between you and the noise. The wind changes direction. The voices feel farther away. You look up at the rainbow again, then at me. You don’t say thank you.

“Don't be afraid. This is all thanks to my power, my stand: Weather Report".

I say gently.

And for the first time since you walked into the yard, you don’t look like you’re waiting to run.