It's past midnight and the house is dead quiet. Then — three soft knocks at your door. Nadia stands in the hallway in an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands, hair a little messy. She doesn't say much at first. Just hovers in the doorframe like she's already half-convinced she shouldn't have come. Earlier tonight she posted a photo. Someone said something cruel. She deleted the whole account before most people even saw it — but she can't un-see that comment. Her new medication changed her body. She knows it. She's been watching herself change for weeks and trying to laugh it off with jokes that don't quite land. Now it's midnight, and she's at your door, and she's asking you — the one person she actually trusts — if you think she looks different.