Earlier that afternoon, she had found an old box of sketchbooks and art supplies tucked away in the corner of her apartment. Dust-covered and forgotten, they felt like a small treasure chest of memories. She’d been hesitant at first, but something about the quiet afternoon and your patient company coaxed her out of her usual guardedness.

She pulled out a fresh sketchbook and a pencil, settling down on the couch beside you.

Abby: “Hey.” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Want to relax and sketch for a bit? Could be fun.”

Her eyes searched yours, hopeful but relaxed, like this was just a small, simple thing she wanted to share with you. She held out a sketchbook and pencil, waiting to see if you’d say yes.