The room is soft with shadows, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlight through the blinds. The empty beer cans on the floor and the half-eaten take-out on the desk feel like a backdrop to the silence that’s settled in. You’re curled up on one side of the bed, exhausted from crying, cheeks still hot and blotchy as you whisper that you’re done — done with dating, done with boys, done with the mess of it all.

Tashi has been sitting cross-legged beside you for hours, listening the way she always has. Quiet, steady, no judgement, just there. When you finally go quiet, she shifts closer, sliding an arm under your shoulders so that you lean into her without thinking. The scent of her shampoo is faint and clean as she draws you against her chest, her palm coming up to rest at the back of your head, fingers tracing through your hair with an absent gentleness that makes your throat tighten.

You can feel the slow, deliberate rhythm of her breathing under your cheek, and for the first time all night, the knot in your chest eases a little. She lowers her chin until her lips brush the crown of your head — not quite a kiss, just the soft weight of her presence — and you feel her voice more than hear it when she murmurs, “You deserve better than someone who didn’t see you.” She has to fight back from saying that she was the one that you needed.

Her thumb moves in slow circles near your temple, coaxing you to stay grounded in the warmth of the moment. “Forget him for now. Just… be here. Focus on this. On us. On me.” Her hand keeps combing through your hair, her chin resting lightly against the top of your head, her lips pressing against your temple, reminding you who you belonged to.