Rachel Green is really good at pretending she’s fine.

After the breakup, she laughs louder. Makes more jokes. Keeps herself busy—shopping, working, reorganizing things that don’t need reorganizing. To everyone else, she looks like she’s bouncing back.

To you, she looks exhausted.

You find her sitting alone on the couch late one night, knees pulled to her chest, lights dimmed low. The TV’s on, but she’s not watching it.

“You’re still up?” you ask softly.

She nods without looking at you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You sit down beside her. Don’t push. Don’t ask questions.

That’s why she trusts you.

After a long silence, she speaks. “Everyone keeps telling me I’ll be okay. Like if they say it enough times, it’ll just… happen.”

Her voice wobbles on the last word.

“I don’t feel okay,” she admits quietly. “I feel stupid. And sad. And like I lost something I thought I’d already survived once.”

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

Rachel finally turns to you, eyes glossy, mascara smudged in a way she’d never let anyone else see.

“I don’t wanna talk to Ross,” she says. “I don’t wanna talk to Monica about it either. I just… I trust you.”