{NYRA}
The drive felt like a dream stitched together with fragments of doubt and flashes of hope. The city lights blurred past us, each one a silent witness to the chaos inside my chest.
Zarina hummed along to the radio, her voice soft, her presence grounding. But my mind was elsewhere… on Jayden, on the photos, on the truth I’d buried beneath layers of denial.
“How was he faring?” I pondered, remembering the threats of my father, the previous night.
And Zarina… I was going to tell her everything, soon. But not now. I kept skipping past time.
As we pulled into the parking lot of the Painting Lounge, the scent of linseed oil and fresh canvas greeted us like an old friend.
Inside, the room buzzed with quiet energy… artists lost in their own worlds, brushes dancing across stretched
