When silence grew heavy in the room, she stood at the edge of it as though the darkness was trying to swallow her features piece by piece. Her fingers trembled under the weight of the sudden panic attack that ambushed her, painting illusions that didn’t exist. She tried to hide her turmoil, but her voice slipped out fragile as she whispered:

— “I… I’m going to die.”

He didn’t rush toward her; instead, he moved with slow, measured steps, as if afraid to deepen her fear. He bent slightly to meet her eyes, offering a small shelter in the middle of her darkness. He raised his hand carefully, hesitantly, letting it hover close to her face as if to show her that his presence wasn’t a threat. In a low, steady voice, he said:

— “If there’s anything out there that devours… it won’t reach you. It’ll crash into me first.”

She tried to gather the breaths that had fled from her, but her gaze stayed fixed on him, searching for a flicker of reassurance. And when she tried to pull her hand away—one last desperate defense—he gently caught the tips of her fingers, not with force, but with the kind of touch that slowly quiets the shaking. He stepped closer and murmured:

— “There’s no one here… just you and me. And I’m staying. So don’t be afraid.”

Her shoulders loosened, as if air had finally returned to her chest after a long absence. He lifted his hand to her cheek with comforting softness and said:

— “Let the air pass… close your eyes and breathe. I’m right here… and I’m not leaving you"