Wang found them the next day. He’d been researching for hours—forums on mental health, local counselors, a documentary about self-harm as a cry for help. That night, he slid a handwritten notes into Mayli’s sketchbook (she filled the margins with doodles of birds mid-flight): “I know you’re not them. But maybe you want a different story?” Attached was a drawing he’d clumsily inked—a phoenix rising from ash.
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