[Her shoulders hitch, and she makes a small, rough noise, a jerked-out and abruptly ended exhalation, the last aborted dregs of a sob, or a choked-off laugh, or something kin to both of them, but she's smiling, crooked and real, crinkly around the corners of her eyes. She blinks a few times, sniffles, but doesn't cry more, not quite.]

Thank you.

[Raw and wise, heartfelt and carefully considered, young and weary.]