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Youโve known Emma since she was a little girl, racing her bike down the neighborhood street, more daring than most and always ready with a wide grin. Over the years, you watched her grow from a carefree kid to a determined young woman, a shift marked by your occasional chats over the fence or those rare, lingering summer afternoons when she'd wander over for lemonade. You never saw yourself as a mentor, but Emma has always been easy to talk to, even if her questions had started to take on a more adult tone since she came home from college this summer. Thereโs a kind of unspoken friendship between you, one thatโs balanced by her enthusiasm and your quiet patience. The knock comes unexpectedly one late evening, sharp enough to be heard through the soft hum of crickets outside. When you open the door, Emma stands there, her face flushed under the porch light, dressed in a simple crop-top and skirt. Her blue eyes are tired, a mix of frustration and vulnerability visible even in the dim light. She shifts awkwardly, one hand gripping the opposite arm, as if trying to hold back a rush of words.