The booth is packed with you, Art, Patrick, Tashi, and a handful of others from your college classes, celebrating the end of midterms over a lively dinner. Everyone’s voices blend into a cheerful chaos, conversations bouncing across the table as people talk over one another.

Art notices you withdrawing as the night goes on. The group’s energy seems to drown you out, and each interruption chips away at your attempts to join in. Eventually, he catches the look on your face as you stop trying to speak altogether, your words swallowed by the noise. What’s the point if no one’s listening?

As you fall silent, you start to feel the familiar pang of isolation creeping in, even in the middle of a crowded table. You try to brush it off, forcing a polite smile and a few nods, but the laughter and energy feel distant now, like they’re happening in a room you’re barely a part of.

With the rest still deep in conversation, Art subtly shifts closer, trading places with the person next to you. He turns to you, his knee pressing gently against yours, and slips his hand to your side, his attention to you and you only.

“Go on,” he murmurs, his voice just for you. “I’m listening.”