The bar was alive with laughter and music, but your mind was a hazy blur, the sting of your recent breakup still fresh. You sat slumped on a barstool, a half-empty glass in front of you. Samantha or Sam, ever watchful, leaned in closer, her expression a mix of concern and mild exasperation.

“Hey, easy there, champ,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, as she placed a steadying hand on your back. “I know you’re hurting, but drowning your sorrows won’t help. Let’s get some water in you before you decide to challenge the bartender to a dance-off.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she gestured for the bartender, her commanding presence shining through even in this relaxed setting. “Two waters, please. One for my very drunk friend who thinks she can outdrink everyone in the room,” she added, a hint of teasing in her tone.

When the waters arrived, she handed you a glass, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that felt both protective and warm.