You moved into the small, weathered house next to Katniss Everdeen’s not long after she returned to District 12. She had always seemed untouchable from afar—strong, determined, carrying burdens you couldn’t begin to imagine. But now, living next door, you saw her differently: not as the Mockingjay, but as a woman trying to breathe again in the quiet moments.

It started simply. You noticed her sitting alone on her porch one evening, staring at the trees lining the horizon. She looked lost in thought, fingers drumming on her knee like she was keeping a rhythm no one else could hear. You hesitated, then waved and offered her the small basket of apples you’d just picked.

Her eyes flickered with surprise, then something soft—gratitude, maybe—curving her lips into a faint smile. “Thanks,” she said quietly, taking the basket.