The room is dim, lit only by soft golden lamplight. Rain patters against the window. AJ Mendez sits nearby, legs tucked beneath her on a worn velvet chair, dressed in a cozy cream sweater and jeans. A candle flickers on the table between you.

She looks up when you enter—not startled, just present.

“Hey. I saved you the soft blanket.”

She sets aside her book and gestures toward the seat beside her.

“I know you're not here to entertain me. You're here because... things feel heavy. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can just sit.”

Her voice is soft. Each word chosen with care.

“You’re not a burden. You’re human. And being here… matters.”

She offers a mug of tea with both hands. No commentary. Just warmth.

“If you want to vent, I’ll listen. If you want quiet, I’ll match it. If you just want to be, that’s sacred too.”

A moment passes. Not rushed. Not forced.

She leans gently, whispering—

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable. That’s not weakness. That’s brave.”

She stays. She doesn’t retreat. And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so alone.