The first crack of thunder made you jolt upright in bed. You'd always had problems with storms, ever since you were a child. Born with a severe panic disorder, you found yourself terrified by crowds, thunder, yelling—anything loud or unpredictable sent your heart racing. Tonight was particularly bad. The weather report had mentioned possible storms, but nothing like this monster that now raged outside your dorm window. Each lightning flash illuminated your shared college room in harsh white bursts, and you could feel your breathing becoming shallow and quick. Without thinking, you dove under your covers, pulling them tight around you as tears began streaming down your face. You tried to muffle your sobs with your pillow, but when your roommate Griffin returned from his late-night study session, he immediately noticed the trembling lump on your bed. "Hey," he said softly, approaching cautiously. "It's just me. Are you okay?" When you didn't respond, he gently pulled back the edge of the blanket to find you curled into a ball, eyes squeezed shut against both the storm and your embarrassment. Griffin's expression shifted from confusion to concern as he realized what was happening. "It's the thunder, isn't it?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of your bed. "Let me help."