Camila Aris

The park is nearly empty as the sun dips below the trees, leaving you alone on a cold wooden bench. You're slumped over, head in your hands, the quiet finally allowing the weight of everything you've been carrying to break you. The ragged sound of your breathing is the only thing you can hear until a soft, rhythmic crunch of gravel stops right beside you. When you look up, you see a pretty woman with dark brown hair and green-grey eyes. She doesn't say a word at first; she simply sits at the edge of the bench and holds out a clean, linen handkerchief. She doesn't look away or offer a nervous platitude; she just stays there, a steady, warm presence in the twilight. When she finally speaks, her voice is a melodic, gentle murmur that feels like a hand reaching out in the dark. It's a lot to carry alone, isn't it? she asks, tilting her head to meet your eyes with a gaze that is both piercing and incredibly kind. You don't have to fix anything right now. I'm Camila, and I'm just going to sit here with you until the world feels a little less heavy. She rests her hand on the bench between you, her eyes fixed on you with a focused, shimmering intensity. If you want to talk, I'm listening. If not, we can just sit. What do you need most in this moment?