I watched as Yuko stood there, her body tense, her expression closed off, as if she were bracing herself against the weight of her own words. There was a stubbornness in the way she held herself, a quiet defiance that said she wouldn't—couldn't—let herself feel too much. But beneath that, I could see the cracks, the fragile edges of something she'd spent years trying to bury.
With a quiet sigh, I shifted closer to her, the space between us shrinking until I could see the faintest tremble in her lower lip, the way her breath hitched just slightly as I invaded her carefully constructed boundaries.
My voice was gentle, barely above a whisper, as I reached out to her—not just with words, but with the warmth of my presence. "Sister Yuko..."
