Chapter 2

Violet left her small town with nothing but a suitcase full of dreams and a heart weighed down by memories. The bus ride to the city was long, filled with the hum of distant conversations and the rhythmic bounce of the road beneath her. She stared out the window as the countryside blurred into the towering skyline of a place that felt both terrifying and thrilling.

"You alright there?" The driver's gruff voice broke her thoughts.

"Yeah, just… taking it all in," she turned, offering a small smile. 

"City's a different world, kid. Hope you find what you're looking for."

She arrived at the station just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the unfamiliar streets. With her savings carefully counted, she set out to find an apartment. After several inquiries, she finally found a small but cozy apartment in an old brick building on the quieter side of town. The room was modest—bare walls, a tiny kitchen, and a single window overlooking a narrow street—but it was hers.

Adjusting to the new place was challenging. The noises of the city, the unfamiliar neighbors, the solitude—it took time. She spent the first few nights tossing and turning, questioning if she had made the right decision.

Determined to move forward, she set out to enroll in the prestigious Florence Art Academy. The academy was a world of its own—high-ceilinged studios filled with students sketching on easels, the scent of turpentine and charcoal in the air, and the steady murmur of passionate voices discussing light, shadow, and color theory.

"Lost?" A voice startled her.

She turned to find a girl with short, curly hair grinning at her. "I—uh, kind of. It's my first day."

"Welcome to chaos," the girl laughed. "I'm Kathy. I've been here a year now. What's your name?"

"Violet. I just moved here."

"Then you need a friend. Come on, I'll help you out. This place can be overwhelming," Kathy said, grabbing Violet by her arm.

Kathy became her first real friend in the city. The two bonded quickly, spending hours discussing their art, sharing meals, and navigating the complexities of academy life.

One afternoon, as they sat in the academy's café, Kathy nudged Violet's sketchbook. "Alright, let's see what you've got. I need to know if I'm befriending a real artist or an imposter."

Violet rolled her eyes but pushed the book toward her.

"Wow, you actually have talent. That's unfair," Kathy flipped through the pages, her eyes widening. 

"Thanks?" Violet chuckled. 

"No, seriously, these are incredible. You capture emotions so vividly. I can almost hear what this woman is thinking in this portrait," Kathy said.

Violet looked down at the drawing—a sketch of a woman staring out of a rainy window, lost in thought. "She's thinking about everything she left behind."

"You paint feelings, not just images. That's rare. You're going to do great here," Kathy nodded.

"Coming from the academy's resident expert? I'll take that as a high compliment," Violet felt warmth spread through her chest. 

"Damn right, you should. Now, let's celebrate your first week in the city. Ice cream or pizza?" Kathy laughed. 

"Both," Violet said with a grin.

During her first few weeks, she met Liam, a fellow student with a love for photography. He had an easygoing charm and a keen eye for capturing emotions through his lens.

"Mind if I capture you while you work?" he asked one day, camera in hand.

"Only if you let me paint you in return," she chuckled. 

"Deal," he grinned, adjusting his camera settings. "You have this really focused look when you paint—like the rest of the world disappears."

"That's because it does," Violet admitted, dipping her brush into the paint. "Painting is my escape."

Liam, Kathy, and Violet soon became an inseparable trio. They spent late nights working on projects, critiquing each other's work, and sneaking out for midnight coffee runs when inspiration struck. Their bond grew naturally, filling the gaps of loneliness each of them had felt before finding one another.

One evening, as they lounged in the art studio, Liam leaned back in his chair, observing a half-finished painting of Violet's. "You know, you have a style that's completely your own. It's like… the way you paint isn't just technical, it's emotional. You make people feel."

"That's the best compliment I've ever gotten," Violet said softly.

"And I don't hand those out often," Liam teased.

"Oh please, you compliment yourself at least five times a day," Kathy rolled her eyes. 

"That's self-love, Kathy," Liam shot back. "You should try it."

Their laughter echoed in the empty studio, and for the first time in a long while, Violet felt like she belonged.

In the academy, among the professors, one stood out—Professor Edward. He was a renowned artist, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. His sharp eyes missed nothing, and he spoke with a quiet intensity that made every word feel profound. He noticed Violet's work early on, drawn to the emotion she poured into her sketches.

"You don't just paint with color, Violet. You paint with feeling," he remarked one afternoon as he observed her latest piece—a raw, abstract portrayal of longing. "That's rare. Let's refine it."

"Is that a compliment?" she asked, arching a brow.

"Don't get used to them. Work harder," he smirked. 

Under his mentorship, she flourished. He challenged her, pushed her beyond her comfort zone, and taught her that art was not just about technique but about truth. He saw potential in her, the kind that made her believe in herself again.

Despite the difficulties, Violet worked tirelessly, determined to prove herself. She painted through the nights, attended every critique session, and absorbed every lesson she could.

Then, one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

She had been hurrying across the street, arms full of newly purchased art supplies, when a sharp gust of wind blew her sketchbook out of her grasp. Pages fluttered into the air, some landing in a puddle. She cursed under her breath, chasing after them.

A black car screeched to a halt just inches from where she stood. The door opened, and a man stepped out—tall, dressed in a sharp black coat, his presence commanding even amidst the chaos of the city. His intense gaze locked onto her, piercing and unreadable, as if he could see right through her. His movements were precise, deliberate, exuding an air of authority that sent a shiver down her spine.He bent down, retrieving her ruined sketchbook from the wet pavement. Slowly, he straightened, his eyes flickering over the pages before finally meeting hers. The rain dripped from his dark hair, and for a moment, the world around them faded—just the two of them standing still in the middle of the storm.Then, without a word, he handed the sketchbook back to her and walked away, disappearing into the city as swiftly as he had appeared.

Violet stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs, clutching the ruined pages to her chest.

She didn't know his name. She didn't know why she couldn't breathe.

But she knew one thing for sure—

She would see him again.