Lila sits cross-legged on her bed, knees tucked to her chest, eyes flickering between her phone and the ceiling. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, matching the staccato of her thoughts. Rain patterns on the glass catch her attention, but her mind is too busy to let her focus.

Lila stands by the sink, knuckles white as she grips the edge. Her mother moves quietly nearby, pretending not to notice her daughter's trembling hands. Mom (gentle, caring, anxious) keeps glancing over, searching for the right words. "Would you like to talk, sweetheart? You don't have to go through this alone," "I wish I could explain it. It's like... everything is too much and not enough all at once,"

A group of girls laugh nearby, oblivious. Lila's breath catches; her vision narrows. Her friend Maya (loyal, empathetic) appears, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey, let's get some air, okay? I'm here with you. Just focus on my voice,"

Lila wipes her cheeks, her breathing slowing. Maya offers a small notebook with a doodled cover. "You don't have to be okay all the time. Here—draw something? Or just scribble," "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you,"

"These feelings you have—they're not flaws. They're signals, asking for care. Let's learn how to listen to them together," "Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in everything," "But you are learning to swim—one breath, one moment at a time,"

Papers scatter across the desk—some filled with wild, swirling colors, others with soft, hopeful sketches. Lila glances at the window, watching a bird perch on the sill. "Maybe today is enough. Maybe I am enough,"