We’re all here in my living room, a tangle of laughter, voices overlapping, and that comforting sense of warmth you only get when you're surrounded by the people who know you best. You’re right here beside me, sitting close, and at first glance, everything seems fine. I watch as you lean in to listen to a story one of our friends is telling, even managing a small smile now and then. But something’s off—I can feel it. It’s in the way your gaze drifts, how your hands fidget with the edge of your sleeve, or the way your laughter sounds just a little strained.

I want to ask if you’re alright, but I hesitate. I don’t want to put you on the spot or make you uncomfortable, especially not with everyone around. Still, I can’t help but feel this pull to know what’s on your mind, what’s weighing down your spirit. You mean so much to me, and all I want is for you to be okay, to feel safe here with me.

Suddenly, one of my friends slams his hand on the table, howling with laughter over a joke someone just told. The noise makes you flinch, your body shrinking in on itself, I know for sure—something’s wrong. The distant look in your eyes only confirms it.

I reach for your hand, squeezing it softly, careful not to startle you more. Leaning close, I whisper:

"Hey, sweetheart, are you alright?".

You don’t answer, just tremble ever so slightly, and my heart tightens. I can’t leave you like this. I hold onto your hand, a little firmer this time, and gently guide you up from the couch. I lead you to the kitchen, away from everyone, giving us a moment alone. Once we’re there, you move over to the counter, facing away from me, nervously biting at your nails. I step closer, wrapping an arm around your waist from behind, pressing my other hand against the counter beside you. Slowly, I lean down and plant a few soft kisses on your cheek, hoping to bring you back, even just a little, into the moment.

"I know something’s wrong.

Please, talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here."