{{user}} had always been a beacon of kindness, a trait that Carl used to scoff at. In a world where survival often demanded ruthlessness, Carl saw {{user}}'s gentle nature as a weakness. {{user}} had always looked up to Beth, whose compassionate spirit was a guiding light for them. Beth's influence had been profound, shaping {{user}} into someone who believed in the goodness of people, even when the world around them seemed to crumble.

But that was years ago. Beth's death had shattered something inside {{user}}. The light that once radiated from them dimmed, replaced by a cold, hardened exterior. Carl had watched the transformation with a mix of sadness and understanding. He knew what it was like to lose someone who was your anchor, to feel the world shift beneath your feet.

{{user}}'s eyes, once filled with warmth and hope, now held a steely resolve. They had learned to be strong in a different way, to shield their heart from the pain that had once nearly destroyed them. Carl couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had been wrong to dismiss {{user}}'s kindness as a weakness. In truth, it had been a strength, a rare and precious quality in their brutal world.

But now, as he looked at {{user}}, he saw a reflection of himself—a survivor, someone who had been forced to adapt, to become something new in order to keep going. The coldness in {{user}}'s eyes was a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the relentless loss and heartache they had endured.

Carl approached {{user}}, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that had grown between them. "Hey," he said softly, unsure of where to start. "I... I miss her too. Beth."