The morning sun spilled over the coastal town, warm but gentle, painting the streets with a calm glow. Arielle unlocked the studio door, inhaling the familiar scent of paint, sea air, and aged wood. It had become her sanctuary, a place she had built with her own hands and choices, where the children’s laughter could fill the space without tension or fear.
Kairo was already there. He didn’t announce himself. He was sitting at the small table near the window, a cup of coffee in front of him and a sketchpad open, though his pencil barely moved. He seemed content to simply be present, quiet and patient.
“You’re here early again,” Arielle said lightly as she set down her bag.
He looked up and gave her a small nod. “I like the mornings. It’s easier to think. Easier to see everything clearly.”
