Chapter 45

The evening air inside my room was thick with tension. The brush in my hand had been gliding smoothly over the canvas just moments ago, each stroke of paint a soothing balm. The scene I was painting—a delicate landscape of rolling hills and a twilight sky—was coming together perfectly. But Zayn’s words from earlier that day replayed in my mind, striking me harder than I wanted to admit. “You don’t look happy at all.”

My hand hesitated as I glanced at the half-finished painting. The once gentle hills and peaceful sky seemed mocking now, as though my own creation was questioning my choices. Anger started bubbling up inside me, and before I could stop myself, I grabbed a bigger brush, slathered it with dark paint, and pressed it against the canvas, smearing the peaceful landscape into chaos.

My hand shook, hovering just inches from the painting, and then I stopped. What was I doing? Destroying this wasn’t going to erase the confusion and frustration swirling inside me. With a deep breath