was coming. The thought was a dissonant chord in her quiet apartment, a jarring note in the melancholic symphony of her grief. Part of her yearned for the sharp, familiar comfort of her friend

versized sweatpants and an old, faded t-shirt – clothes of comfort, not presentation. The thought of putting on anything else felt like a betrayal of her current state. As she brushed her tangled auburn hair, she caught h

digo, stormy gray, and startling white sat congealed on her palette. The urge to paint had been a fleeting spark, a flicker of her old self, but the sheer e

on her floor, there was a firm, rhythmic knock at her apartment door. It wasn't the tentative tap of a delivery person

steeling herself, and pu

bun, and her expressive eyes, usually sparkling with wit, were filled with a deep, unwavering concern. In one arm, she cr

and mock triumph in her voice. "I was picturing myself scaling the fi

ak, genuine smile.

imply surveyed the apartment, her gaze lingering for a moment on the covered canvases, the dormant paints, and fina

kitchen counter. "You look like you haven't eaten a square

a's bluntness was precisely what she needed. There was no need for pretense, no req

e small coffee table. Clara efficiently found two mismatched mugs for the wine, pouring generous amounts into each.

"And to eventually thriving. Even when a certa

but the warmth spreading through her chest was welcome. "

lara realized with a jolt how long it had been since she'd tasted real food, since she'd fel

Don't leave anything out. I need to understand what happened to my best f

usion. "He just changed, Clara. So fast. One day, we were talking about apartments, about maybe finding a bigger place, a shared studio sp

not meeting, the way his laughter seemed to dim in her presence. "I tried to ask," Elara continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I said, 'Is everythi

shing with anger. "You always see the best in people, Elara. It's o

the edge of the futon, right there, looking at his hands. He couldn't even look at me. And he just said... 'I can't be what you need, Elara. Not right now.' Like it was a given.

, a physical manifestation of the pain she'd held in for so long. Clara didn't offer

at's what I don't understand. Eliott wasn't a bad person. He

s. "He was everything good. He brought color back into my world. He unde

out him. There is something going on in his life, something he is too weak or too cowardly to face, a

there. Only the dull ache remained, a constant companion. "Why couldn't he just tell me?" sh

"Sometimes, people are just selfish. Sometimes, they're afraid. And sometimes, they just ca

the takeout containers. Elara allowed herself to simply feel the grief, raw and immense, but this

he said you hadn't picked up a brush since... well, since. But I see this." She gestured to the new canvas. "And I see those colors. Indigo. Gray. White." She looked

xpected Clara to notice, or to understand. "I... I

oft but firm. "You had the impulse. That's a start. That

Indigo. That's the deep sadness, isn't it? The endless night. And gray... that's the

White," she murmured, "is... emptiness. But also... the blank page. The po

er the tears. The tiny, fragile hope." She reached out and gently touched Elara's shoulder. "It won't be easy. The pain will come in wave

a heavy blanket, but a corner of it had been lifted, allowing a sliver of air to reach her. She wasn't fixed. She wasn't suddenly whole. But she had been seen, truly seen, in her brokenness, and that, she realized, was the first smal