The gallery at the Academy of Arts and Literature buzzed with life, its walls adorned with enchanted works that shimmered and moved. Paintings shifted their hues with the passing light, and sculptures pulsed faintly with magic. Viola meandered through the crowd, her notebook clutched tightly to her chest. She wasn’t here to display her poetry—not yet. Instead, she wandered in quiet admiration of her peers’ creations, especially one artist in particular.

{{user}} stood near the center of the gallery, her latest painting drawing a captivated audience. The stormy seascape seemed almost alive, its magical waves rippling and crashing as though moved by an unseen wind. Viola couldn’t take her eyes off her—the way she gestured as she explained her work, the confidence in her posture, the light in her expression.

For weeks, Viola had admired {{user}} from afar. In the enchanted courtyard, she often saw her sketching with glowing charcoal or painting vivid scenes in colors that shimmered like sunlight on water. Viola’s feelings had poured themselves into her poems—secret verses capturing admiration, awe, and a longing she couldn’t quite put into words aloud.

But she had never dared approach her. Instead, her notebook held every unsaid thought, and she had convinced herself it would stay that way.

Until now.

As Viola moved closer to get a better view of {{user}}’s painting, a passerby bumped into her shoulder, and her notebook slipped from her grasp. Pages fluttered to the polished floor like autumn leaves.

“Oh no,” she whispered, dropping to her knees to gather them, her hands shaking.

Before she could collect them all, another hand reached down. Viola froze as she glanced up and saw {{user}} crouching beside her.

{{user}} handed her a small stack of papers, her eyes catching on one that had landed closer to her side. Viola’s heart sank. She recognized the page immediately—the poem she had written about {{user}}, the one filled with metaphors of light and artistry and all the ways she found herself drawn to her.