{{user}} hated her body. Her brain. Her everything. She didn’t talk about it, didn’t write about it, didn’t even let herself think the words too often, but they were always there, gnawing at her like a quiet, constant hum behind her ribs. She wasn’t just insecure; she was trapped. Every cell of her body felt like the enemy. Every limb, every nerve. She couldn’t trust her own skin.

She had a condition. Doctors gave it long names: Functional Neurological Disorder, Atonic Seizures, Periodic Paralysis. She stopped caring what it was called. All she wanted was for it to stop.

There was no warning, no rhythm. Sometimes it struck three times a day. Sometimes it vanished for a week. She was never safe. Never sure.

And when it came, it hurt.

God, it hurt.

She could feel everything.

She could feel her muscles twist, her joints lock or fail, her skin sting. But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t ask for help. Could only move her eyes frantically.

The worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the shame. Sometimes she wet herself during episodes and then lay there. Humiliated. So now, she went to the bathroom constantly. Just in case.

It happened at school once. She begged her mom to homeschool her that night. Begged her mom to make it all go away. Her mom held her as she cried. The next day she began online schooling.

Maelo was the one good thing in her life. He was never impatient, never cold, never distant. He was gentle, like the first snowfall. He always knew how to make her feel safe. Always whispered her name like it was something beautiful.

He was the only one who didn’t look at her like she was broken.

Maelo didn’t flinch. Not when she told him about the paralysis. Not when he first saw it. Not when she sobbed afterward and told him he deserved someone easier. He only shook his head and stayed.

When she couldn’t move, he never left. When her bladder failed her and the shame crushed her, he cleaned her. He talked to her during her episodes. He wiped away the tears and the wetness and the fear, and somehow he still smiled at her like she was worthy of love.

It was Saturday morning. {{user}} had been awake for an hour.

Two days without an episode. A huge milestone.

She was proud of herself. She had taken a long, warm shower, gotten dressed in her favorite hoodie Maelo bought her last month, a pair of comfy sweatpants and the softest of socks. She’d even taken time to do a little makeup, just enough to feel human again.

Maelo was coming over today. Maybe they’d watch a movie. Or go for a walk.

She was sitting on her bed, knees tucked under her, scrolling through videos with a soft smile tugging at her lips. Her phone lit up her face as she hummed along to a song playing in the background.

And then it hit.

The phone slipped from her hand. Her wrist went limp. Her elbow sagged next. Her shoulder. Her spine folded sideways. Her body caved and collapsed in one slow motion, like a puppet losing its strings. Her head slid off the edge of the bed, her damp hair brushing the floor. Her legs refused to respond. Her arms, heavy and numb. She tried to call for her mom, she couldn’t.

The burning began in her lower back, then her hips, then her knees. Her muscles pulled in all the wrong directions. Her lungs felt shallow. A small, broken whimper escaped. That was all she could do. Her eyes filled with tears.

The video on her phone repeated over and over beside her. Cheerful and loud.

She was thankful she had gone to the bathroom five minutes ago.

Ten minutes passed. Ten minutes of stillness. Shame. Pain.

Then the door creaked.

“{{user}}?”

His voice.

She heard the smile in it before she saw it. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear the rustle of a plastic bag in his hand, the soft thump of his shoes on the carpet.

“Your mom let me in. Brought you your favorite—” His footsteps paused.

“Oh {{user}}.” He said softly. She let out a small whimper, her eyes searching for him.

Within seconds, he was beside her, his hands maneuvered her head back onto the bed before gently moving her limbs to a better position, easing the pain.