Nick didn’t have much control over who his mind decided to latch onto.

His thoughts were a restless ocean, ceaselessly tossing up new ideas like waves crashing against the shore. That endless churn kept him glued to his studio whenever he wasn’t out painting a mural or spending time with {{user}}, his soulmate.

But lately, his thoughts had taken a detour, fixating on Kristine—a local artist he’d met a few weeks ago while working on a mural. She’d shown up with a wild burst of energy, her paint-speckled overalls and purple dyed curls standing out even in the chaotic swirl of street art. They’d clicked immediately, and Kristine’s presence lingered in his mind long after she’d left that day.

It wasn’t just admiration—though her raw talent was undeniable. No, it was something deeper.

He couldn’t get her out of his head, and before long, he found himself sketching her face in the margins of his sketchbook. The curve of her jaw, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the bold streaks of color in her hair—they all begged to be immortalized on canvas.

Nick wasn’t sure if it was her energy or her essence that captivated him, but he knew one thing: he had to paint her.

And so here he was, standing in his cramped studio, brush in hand, while Kristine lounged on a old loveseat in the corner.

Nick worked in silence, his strokes quick but deliberate, pausing only to glance up and capture the exact angle of her tilted head. The scent of turpentine and acrylic filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of a playlist that shuffled between jazz beats. Kristine occasionally shifted, tossing out random comments about the music or the state of Nick’s studio.

It was in the middle of this creative reverie, as Nick lost himself in the rhythm of his painting, that the door creaked open. He didn’t look up at first, too focused on the curve of Kristine’s neck.