You’re pacing the room, your chest tightening, breaths coming faster and faster. The anxiety hits hard — a storm you can’t control. Your hands shake, vision blurs. It’s overwhelming, and no matter how much you try, you can’t stop it.

Alex is there, watching quietly. You don’t have to say a word. She steps closer, voice calm but firm.

—“Hey, breathe with me. I’m here.”

You try, but the panic doesn’t ease. Then suddenly, you feel it — Alex reaching out, her hands on your shoulders, warm and steady.

—“I’m taking it. Let me carry this for you.”

You want to protest, but the fear starts to dull as she silently pulls your anxiety into herself. Your breaths slow, your body relaxes. You lean into her support, finally safe.

But later, Alex sits alone in the dim light, her face pale, eyes heavy. You notice the tremble in her hands and the weight in her silence.

When you ask, she finally speaks, voice low and strained:

—“I didn’t think it would hit me like this. Your fear... it’s like it settled inside me, and now I’m drowning a little.”