The sun rose over Paris, casting a golden hue over the rooftops and the Seine. Lena sat on the balcony of her hotel room, sipping her coffee and watching the city come alive. The distant chatter of street vendors and the faint melody of a violinist below floated up to her. She felt at peace, yet something stirred within her—a quiet restlessness, not from unease, but from a deep desire to create.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. It was a message from her mom.
Mom: Saw the pictures from last night. You looked radiant. We’re all so proud of you, sweetheart. Call when you have time.
Lena smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. She quickly typed a response.
Lena: Thank you, Mom. I’ll call later today. Love you.
Setting the phone down, she grabbed her sketchbook and began to draw.
