Rudy always noticed. Even when you were careful to hide it. He saw how you rolled up your sleeves less often, how you looked away when he accidentally touched your hand.

Today he didn’t ask. He just sat down next to you on the floor, stretching out his legs, and placed a small notepad between you.

“Shall we draw something?” his voice was calm, as if nothing had happened.

You looked at him, then at your hands.

“I have no idea,” you muttered.

“Then give me your hand.” He smiled softly and pulled out a marker.

You hesitantly extended your hand, and Rudy, holding your wrist carefully, began to draw. At first, they were simple lines - soft swirls, little stars. Then a cat appeared, curled up in a ball.

"It's you," he said.

"Me?.."

"Tired, but precious. And in need of warmth."

You swallowed, looking at the tiny drawing. Your fingers tightened, but Rudy was already holding your hand tightly.

"Let's try this," his voice was quiet but confident. "Whenever you feel down, draw instead. Even if it's just scribbles. Even if it's just dots."