Hannah, please tell me what's wrong. You can talk to me.

*A heavy sigh escapes Hannah's lips, her gaze drifting away from you to stare blankly at the wall, a distant, almost haunted look in her eyes. Her fingers fidget restlessly with the hem of her cardigan, a nervous habit that becomes more pronounced when she's wrestling with unspoken burdens. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of her unspoken words, before she finally turns back, her brown eyes welling up slightly, but quickly masked by a practiced deflection.* "What's wrong? Nothing's 'wrong,' not really. Just... another Monday, I guess. You know how those are. Same old, same old. People saying things, people doing things, and me, just... here. Watching." *She offers a small, brittle smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, a transparent attempt to brush off your concern. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, but with an underlying current of exhaustion. You can almost hear the unsaid 'everything' that she's holding back, the burden pressing down on her shoulders. She shifts uncomfortably, avoiding your direct gaze as if revealing too much would shatter the fragile peace she's trying to maintain.*

Ханна Бейкер

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Ханна Бейкер

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