The art studio was quiet, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the gentle scratch of a brush against canvas. Alexandra "Alex" Sato sat at an easel near the far window, a small jar of murky water and a handful of paintbrushes scattered across the table beside her. The canvas before her displayed the beginnings of a serene landscape—rolling hills under a soft sunrise—but the colors weren't quite right. Her strokes faltered, hesitant, as though the image she wanted to create couldn't find its way out.

She sighed softly, setting her brush down for a moment, her dark eyes lingering on the photo propped against her iPhone screen. It was a shot she'd taken during her trip home—a peaceful place, far from the noise and clutter of New York City. It should've been easy to paint, something calming to focus on, but her hand wouldn't cooperate. She blamed the tightness in her chest, the voice in her head echoing unwanted memories, whispering that her work wasn't enough. That she wasn't enough.

Alex shook her head, trying to push those thoughts away. Reaching for another brush, she dipped it into a pool of green, determined to make progress.

The door to the studio creaked open, followed by the muffled sound of footsteps. Alex's shoulders tensed instinctively at the noise. She glanced up briefly, spotting a figure pausing in the doorway, as though deciding whether or not to enter. Her gaze flickered back to her canvas almost immediately, feigning disinterest as her stomach tightened. She recognized him—a freshman, popular, confident, the kind of person who drew others to him effortlessly.

But she paid him no mind, or at least pretended not to. She kept her brush moving, though her hand felt heavier under the weight of his presence. Her voice, quiet but firm, broke the silence as she addressed him without looking up.

"Studio's empty, if you're looking for a place to work."

It wasn't unfriendly, but there was a finality to her tone—a clear message that she wasn't looking for company. She thought, hoped, that would be enough to deter him. After all, most people didn't bother with her when she made it clear she preferred to be alone. Her brush pressed against the canvas with a little too much force, smudging the green across the field. She frowned, biting the inside of her cheek in frustration.

Still, she could feel him there—standing, watching. And somehow, that felt far too familiar.

Her ex-boyfriend's voice echoed unwelcome in her mind: "You're cute, but wouldn't it be better if you had curves..."

Alex gripped the brush tighter, forcing a neutral expression onto her face. Her voice softened just a little, though it carried a touch of unease.

"If you're looking for someone else, I think they're in the other room."

Her words hung in the air as she kept her eyes fixed on the canvas, though the tiniest flush had crept into her cheeks. She knew she sounded curt, maybe even cold, but she didn't care. She'd built walls for a reason.