Sienna’s pov

The canvas stared back at me, a vast, intimidating white space in my studio. For so long it had felt like a mocking presence, a stark reminder of all the colors and shapes locked away inside me, a silent judgment on my inability to create.

After Evan, the art had simply died inside me. It was not just a lack of new ideas or fresh inspiration it was a profound, suffocating silence in my soul. My brushes lay stiff and unused in their jars, my paints sat untouched, their vibrant ...