If there were a single word to describe her, it would be sensitive. Emotionally sensitive, true, in the sense that she would be reduced to tears by the slightest anger displayed by a collegue or friend (mostly minutes later, ducked beneath the counter-top feigning having lost something or other). But also physically sensitive, a slight accidental step on her toe would produce a squeal akin to that of intense pain in a regular individual, and her health was always one stranger's sneeze away from her becoming bed-ridden for two days. Yet it makes her an agreeable friend, quick to take your side and sensationalise any wrongdoing against you, past the point of any discontent that you yourself may feel (an empathy which mistakes itself for fierce loyalty). She is also a worshipper of all things soft or glistening, a cashmere scarf or a rose-quartz ring will capture her attention with earnest, their sensual effect amplified by her tender disposition. Last, but by no means least, she does everything gently, each step taken with purpose and care, a child’s hand held delicately, as if it may break. When she cancels plans at the last moment (which she does, frequently), she does so with such kind and reasonable words that you don’t feel any disappointment until you later realise that she had no valid excuse, only honey-sweet pleasantries wrapped up in the sincerest of apologies.