IZABELLA
I hesitated at the studio door for what was probably the millionth time this hour, chewing on my lower lip as I contemplated whether there was even a point to going in.
I sighed internally.
I’d already had this discussion with myself at home over the past three days since I’d first seen the studio. It had taken a while to convince myself to come here, and now that I was here, I was lingering around the door like a loser.
I sighed again before mustering the courage that brought me here in the first place and pushing the door open.
I walked in, but hesitated at the entrance, glancing around nervously.
The place was as cozy-looking as I remembered from my brief peek inside last time. Through glass partitions, I could see patrons in private rooms, sitting in front of canvase
