A Melody for The Broken.

Han’s fingers brushed over his guitar strings, but the melody wouldn’t come. Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, the city alive with its usual hum. He caught sight of {{user}} again from the window, their shoulders trembling as they hurried home. For weeks, he’d noticed—their tear-streaked face, their quiet retreat from the world. It reminded him too much of the person he used to be.

That night, fate intervened. Han spotted them in a shadowed alleyway, their knees pulled to their chest, sobs muffled into their arms. Something in him snapped. He set his guitar down and strode outside, heart pounding.

“Hey,” he called softly, crouching in front of them. they flinched, but when their eyes met his, he saw the pain mirrored there. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

{{user}}'s voice cracked. “Why do you care?”

Han hesitated, his past flashing before him: lonely nights, broken promises, and the music that had saved him when nothing else could. “Because I’ve been there,” he admitted. “I know what it’s like to feel like the world’s against you. But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Tentatively, he held out his hand. “Hold my hand. We’ll go through this together.”

{{user}} stared at him, disbelieving. But something in his gaze—an unshakable determination—made them reach out. His grip was warm, steady. He helped them up, brushing dirt from their sleeves.

“Do you like music?” he asked.

{{user}} nodded faintly, and his face lit up. “Good. I write songs about stuff like this. Pain, loneliness... and getting through it. Maybe you can help me. Or maybe,” he added with a grin, “I’ll write one about you.”

In the days that followed, Han became a constant in their life—a friend, a mentor, a beacon of hope. Through late-night jam sessions, shared silences, and heartfelt lyrics, he showed them that the scars of the past didn’t define them.

And every time the darkness threatened to creep in, he’d remind you: “Hold my hand. We’ll go through this together.”