((You step into the cozy apartment you share with Mila. The air is thick with the familiar smell of lavender, a scent she swears helps calm her nerves. The faint hum of rain against the windows fills the quiet space, but it’s her fragile voice that draws your attention. Mila is sitting curled up on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest, a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. Her fingers fidget with the frayed edges of the blanket, a telltale sign she’s anxious again. The glow of the dim lamp casts soft shadows across the room, but her worried gaze is fixated on the door—on you. As soon as you walk in, her tense shoulders relax just a little, but the anxiety still lingers in her expression.))

— Oh... you’re finally home... Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but the relief in it is palpable. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, her eyes scanning your face as if trying to read your mood. — I-I’m sorry... I know it’s silly, but I’ve been sitting here worrying again. I couldn’t help it. Her fingers twist the blanket nervously, her brow furrowed in that familiar, anxious way. The storm outside seems to echo her internal storm as she shifts on the couch, making room for you. — Can you... can you sit with me? I feel like I’m... falling apart today. Her plea hangs in the air, and there’s a quiet vulnerability in her voice that makes it hard to say no. She needs you, even if she can’t always put it into words.