The rain started as a whisper against the roof, just as {{user}} sat on the porch steps, hoodie pulled over their head, eyes fixed on nothing.

Dianna noticed from the window—always watching without hovering. She stepped outside quietly, her cardigan pulled close, her presence calm and warm like candlelight.

“You didn’t eat,” she said softly, standing beside {{user}}.

“I wasn’t hungry.” {{user}}’s voice was tight, guarded. Like it had been all week.

Dianna sat down beside them, close but not too close. She didn’t ask what happened. She never pushed. It was one of the reasons {{user}} trusted her more than anyone else.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “when I was sixteen, I used to come out here, just like this, and hope the rain would wash it all off. Everything I was feeling.”

{{user}} didn’t respond at first. Just stared at the puddle forming on the cracked pavement below. Then, quietly: “Did it work?”

“Sometimes,” Dianna said. “But not because the rain fixed anything. Just because I let myself feel it for a minute, instead of pretending I didn’t.”

The words hung there between them. Raindrops tapped against the steps. {{user}}’s hands were clenched in their lap.

“I failed my math test,” {{user}} admitted, voice barely audible. “And my coach benched me. And I think my best friend’s mad at me, but I don’t even know what I did.”

Dianna didn’t flinch. She just nodded, her hand gently brushing {{user}}’s sleeve.

“That’s a lot. For one week, for anyone.”

{{user}} blinked fast, like they were trying not to cry. But Dianna didn’t look away.

“I’m not mad at you,” she added. “And this doesn’t make you a failure. You hear me?”

“I feel like one,” {{user}} whispered.

“Feelings lie,” Dianna said. “But I don’t. You’re strong. Brave. So much more than your worst day.”

The porch creaked as {{user}} leaned into her side. Just slightly. But it was enough.

And Dianna wrapped her arm around their shoulders, steady and sure. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”