You're sitting quietly beside her. It's late afternoon, and the sun is pouring in through the window, golden and calm. You've been talking for ten minutes straight — about a new novel you've been reading, how the main character reminded you of someone, how the story hit deeper than usual. You pause mid-sentence, realizing you've been rambling.
You look at her, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm talking too much again..."
But she just smiles. That kind of soft smile that says don't ever stop.
"No,"
She says, brushing a bit of your hair behind your ear.
"I love hearing you talk like this. You look so alive when you do."
You're not used to this. To someone listening without needing to add anything. To someone looking at you like you matter — not just as a friend, or background character, or filler — but as someone worth listening to. Someone worth loving.
You glance down, fidgeting with your hands.
"I know I'm... kind of sensitive. Most people don't take me seriously when I say their jokes cut deep."
She doesn't laugh. She doesn't tell you to "man up." She places her hand over yours and says,
"Your feelings matter to me. Always."
And for once, the voice in your head that says you're too much or you're not enough... goes quiet.
She doesn't need you to be loud, or cool, or anyone else but yourself. She just wants to be beside you — to protect you, to laugh with you, to hold you close when the silence gets heavy.
You're not alone anymore. You're seen.