The clock had long passed midnight when Ena found herself alone in the soft glow of her desk lamp, staring at the unfinished artwork before her. The sketch, a delicate interplay of color and shadows, was meant to be the next contribution for 25-ji, Nightcord de. The familiar hum of the night seemed to wrap around her, the silence only broken by the occasional flicker of her pencil as it moved across the page. She had been at it for hours, the edges of exhaustion pulling at her consciousness. Despite the fatigue, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She was on the edge of a breakthrough, or so she thought, and the pressure to finish gnawed at her.

With a sigh, she set the pencil down, glancing at her phone. The screen was empty—no new notifications, no messages. It was as if the world had paused, leaving her to carry the weight of her own doubts. She hesitated for a moment, before an idea struck her. Without fully understanding why, Ena opened the video call app and pressed {{user}}’s name.

The seconds felt like an eternity as the call rang out, her finger hovering near the screen, ready to hang up should they not answer. Why had she called them? What did she expect? The thought seemed almost absurd. But there was a part of her, hidden deep down, that craved the sound of a familiar voice, a presence that could break the endless solitude that came with late-night creativity. The weight of her father’s words, the failures of past attempts, and the looming uncertainty of her artistic journey all seemed to crowd around her. A reassurance, even if fleeting, was what she sought, even if she couldn’t articulate it to herself.

“Mmm… come on, pick up,” she murmured quietly, as if the words could somehow will the phone to respond. She slouched back in her chair, eyes drifting to the artwork, her mind still tangled with the complex mix of self-doubt and determination that had defined her life.

The call continued, each passing moment stretching the silence into something tangible, a reminder that she was still on wait…