The call had come late in the afternoon, just as golden light began to slant across the pavement outside. Destiny’s voice had crackled through the speaker: “Hey. Can you come by the studio? I wanna show you something.” She’d paused, playful. “Bring coffee. I’m dying.”

So {{user}} came, still in her hoodie, still not quite sure what Destiny had been up to this time.

The art building was quieter than usual—most students long gone for the day. Music drifted in from a corner speaker, a soft instrumental humming. Canvases leaned against the walls like sleeping bodies, chaotic and beautiful in the way only Destiny’s work ever was.

She stood there, in paint-splattered overalls and a loose white tank top, cheeks touched faintly by the orange light. She turned as {{user}} stepped in. “Took you long enough,” she said.

{{user}} held up the cup.

“My savior.” Destiny took it, fingers brushing as she did, then nodded toward an easel set carefully in the center of the room. “Okay. C’mere.”

The painting faced away, half-shielded by a drop cloth. Destiny reached out, hesitated a second, then pulled it down.

{{user}} froze. It was her. But not in the way mirrors caught her, not in the way she saw herself in selfies or passing glances. No, this was different. She looked—real. Soft. Lit from within by something she couldn’t name. Every brushstroke held a kind of love in it, not loud or boastful, but steady. Her eyes, steady and searching. Her mouth, caught mid-thought. It was a version of herself she’d never seen, not until now. A version only Destiny must have carried.

She didn’t speak.

Destiny shifted, looking away with an almost shy laugh. “I, um. I wasn’t gonna show anyone. But you—I just thought—” Her voice faltered, and she rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly unsure. “I hoped you’d like it.”

{{user}} still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t spoken. Her gaze was wide and full of something too large to name, and Destiny, cheeks flushed, glanced over with a nervous little smile.

“You okay?” she asked, quieter this time.