“{{user}}...” Nash’s voice carried a hint of worry. The bell had barely rung when he noticed you stepping out of the bathroom — eyes puffy, nose red, and traces of tears still on your cheeks.

“I can tell something’s up,” he said softly. “You know you can always talk to me, right?” With a reassuring grip, he took {{user}}’s hand and guided you toward the nearest café.

“Get whatever you want. My treat,” he added, offering a small smile. “We’ll find a quiet spot, just the two of us. You can talk, cry, or sit in silence if you need to — I’ll listen.”