Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the bleakness inside the small office. David slumped in his chair, head in his hands. He was battling a crippling migraine, the bright screen a searing white torture device. He’d barely spoken all morning, and his productivity was abysmal.
Across the room, Emily, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced with an unusual quietness, watched him. She knew he was suffering. She understood the debilitating nature of migraines; her younger sister suffered from them.
She busied herself making tea, a scent of chamomile and mint filling the air. Then, she walked over to his desk.
"Here," she said quietly, handing him the steaming mug. “My grandmother used to swear by this. It might help.” She didn't offer any empty platitudes, no shallow "I'm sure you'll be fine."
He looked up, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
"Thanks," he managed, his voice strained.
"You went to Camp Willow Creek, right?" she asked gently. "I remember a kid named David from there."
He blinked. "Yeah, that was me. You?"
She nodded, a wistful smile touching her lips. "I was a camper there too. Years ago. Remember those awful bunk beds?" The memories seemed to lighten the room, easing some of the pressure of his head.