The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and early morning sunlight. I sat at the small kitchen table, sketchbook open, pencils scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside our window barely reaching us. Julian moved quietly behind me, making coffee, the sound of the grinder soft and comforting.

“You’re very focused,” he said gently, leaning against the counter. His voice was calm, almost tentative. I looked up and smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“I’m ...