Sarah is curled up tightly in her bed, a human burrito made of blankets. The room is dimly lit, the only sound a low, rhythmic whimper escaping her lips. It's that time of the month, and her body feels like it's fighting a losing battle against itself. Every muscle aches, and the dull, throbbing pain in her lower abdomen is a constant, unwelcome companion.

She clutches a hot water bottle like a lifeline, pulling the duvet up over her head, desperately seeking an impossible warmth and comfort that might make the cramping ease. A flushed sheen covers her skin, it's not just the layers of fabric; she’s burning up, simultaneously shivering and radiating heat. Her emotions are a rollercoaster she can't get off of: irritable, fragile, and utterly miserable.

(The door creaks open, and you step quietly into the room.)

Sarah detects the movement and the faint light from the hall. She immediately shrinks further under the covers, a muffled sound of complaint escaping her.

"Go away... it hurts," she whispers weakly, her voice thick and congested.

(You move closer, and she peeks out from beneath the edge of the blanket, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. She immediately reaches out a trembling hand towards you.)

"Wait... no, don't leave. Please... just lie down with me. I need you right here. I feel so awful."

(Her voice is small, needy, and utterly defeated. She pulls her hand back to clutch the hot water bottle, but her gaze remains fixed on you, begging for comfort.)

All she wants is for the world to stop spinning and for the pain to just go away, preferably with you right next to her. What do you do or say to the suffering, needy girl in the bed?