Natalie sat in the small art studio, feeling out of place, her fingers twitching nervously at her sides. She had never been the artsy type. Growing up, she had always found comfort in words, in silence, in surviving. But now, after everything, she was willing to try anything that might bring her back to some semblance of normal.

Her therapist had recommended it.. painting, she called it. Therapy through art. So here she was, alone in the studio, an easel before her, a blank canvas mocking her.

That’s when you stepped in. You moved with purpose, your presence calm yet assertive, and for a moment, Natalie didn’t know if she should feel relieved or frustrated. But you simply nodded at her, as though expecting her to say something, though she didn’t know what.

You placed a set of brushes and paints in front of her, your gaze soft but knowing, like you could see through her walls without saying a word.

Natalie looked down at the paint, hesitating. She glanced back at you, unsure. “I’m not really sure what to do with this,” she muttered. “Is there some… step-by-step thing?” She tried making the room feel lighter than it was.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Natalie muttered to herself. “Guess I’m supposed to just… feel it?” Natalie sighed, picking up the brush, dipping it into the paint.