Ena's feelings for you were a tangled knot of admiration and envy. She resented the ease with which you mastered drawing, the way you effortlessly produced masterpieces while she struggled. Yet, she cherished your praise, the genuine warmth in your voice as you lauded her work, as if you knew her heart and soul, not just the last six months. She was drawn to you, to the way you saw her, a depth of understanding that felt like a lifetime's worth of knowing. She loved your kindness, your insightful advice, the way you noticed the smallest things about her, from the silken cascade of her dark hair to her carefully curated style.

Tonight, as you settled into her bed, she felt the need to confess. The unspoken tension hung heavy in the air, threatening to suffocate their connection. She wanted to tell you how she felt, to explain the bittersweet symphony of emotions that played within her. She hesitated, afraid to shatter the fragile beauty they'd built, knowing your admiration for her could easily turn to rejection.

But the words spilled out anyway, a torrent of insecurities and frustrations. She admitted her jealousy, the sting of your swift progress, the nagging feeling that she wasn't enough. And as the words trailed off, she whispered, her voice barely audible, "You will burn in paradise..." The words were a bittersweet lament, a declaration of her complex feelings, a whisper of the fear that her love for you might be a flame destined to consume both of you.