You choose your battles. You give enough for them to believe they understand you, while keeping the part that matters untouched.
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The night settled around Zaya like a soft, heavy blanket, quiet except for the distant hum of the city and the faint scratch of her pencil on empty paper. She stared at the blank page, heart still racing from the tension of the Langford visit, her thoughts twisting in a knot she couldn't unravel. The shadows in the corners of the studio seemed to lean closer, silent witnesses to her uncertainty, and the faint scent of turpentine and paper lingered in the air, mingling with the trace of her own sweat.
Her fingers hovered over the pencil, but the weight of expectation pressed down too hard, making even the smallest movement feel monumental. Every line she imagined, every sketch she considered, seemed to dissolve before it could take shape, leaving only the echo of failure behind. She leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes wander across the scattered sketchbooks and loose sheets that carpeted the floor, pages smudged with graphite and pastel, edges curling from neglect.
Her chest tightened with a dull ache. The gallery, the warnings, the story of Joseph O'Connor...they all threaded through her thoughts like barbed wire, reminding her that courage had a price she wasn't sure she was willing to pay. And yet, beneath that fear, a small, stubborn spark flickered, a whisper of the woman who refused to stay silent, who longed to carve herself into the world with strokes that might frighten others as much as they revealed her.
Her phone buzzed on the edge of the desk. She glanced at it, startled, and the name lighting the screen made her chest flutter.
~ Cael: "You've been quiet these days. I imagine your mind is crowded."
She stared at the message and held her thumb above the screen. The message expressed calm and careful thought, and it mirrored his steady nature.
Her fingers hovered, hesitant, before she typed:
~ Zaya: "It's… too much. My head won't stop spinning, and I don't know where to start."
She paused and studied the words before sending them.
Almost immediately, a new message appeared
~Cael: "I understand. It can feel like a weight pressing in from every side. Don't be hard on yourself for needing a moment."
The warmth of the text surprised her, easing some of the tightness in her chest. She wanted to reply, but the words felt heavy, inadequate and unsure. Her thumb hovered, then she typed again:
~ Zaya: "I… I'm stressed. More than I expected. I feel stuck."
~ Cael: That's a sensible acknowledgment. Stress shows you care, that the work matters. But it doesn't define you. You don't have to carry it alone, not tonight."
Her breath caught. His words carried neither suggestion nor demand, only the quiet authority and steadiness she had begun to rely on.
She lingered over the phone, reading the words again and again, letting the quiet care in them seep into her bones. Her fingers lingered over the phone, the quiet of the studio pressing around her. Finally, she typed, hesitating:
~ Zaya: "I'm not in the mood for anything sexual..."
The reply came almost immediately, calm and measured, carrying the weight of understanding rather than desire.
~ Cael: "That's exactly why I want you to come. This is your chance to relax, enjoy a good conversation, and embrace a little quiet, something that lets you truly breathe."
Zaya blinked at the screen. The words were simple, but they carried a promise of safety she hadn't realized she craved. She felt the tight coil of tension in her chest ease slightly, replaced by a cautious warmth.
~ Zaya: "…Alright. I'll come."
And just like that, the weight she'd been carrying for days eased. It was about simply being, letting the night unfold, and trusting someone else to hold the space.
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
The ride to Cael's apartment was quiet, the city's muted hum stretching around her like a second layer of thought. Her chest was still tight, but there was a thread of anticipation winding through her nerves, delicate and careful, like a candle flame resisting the draft.
When she reached his door, she paused, hand hovering over the handle. She could feel her heartbeat echoing through her veins, a reminder of the weight of expectation she'd carried all day. The door opened almost instantly, and there he was, calm and composed, the presence she had learned to trust like a quiet anchor.
~ Cael: "Come in."
He said, voice low and deliberate.
His apartment was softly lit, warm, and inviting, with shadows smoothing the angles of furniture into shapes that felt forgiving. The faint aroma of brewed coffee lingered, mingling with leather and wood, a subtle comfort.
Zaya stepped inside feeling the tension in her shoulders ease fractionally. He moved with ease around her, gestures deliberate but unassuming, offering her a seat on the sofa. The cushions seemed to embrace her, soft but solid, grounding her in the moment.
~ Cae: "I thought we could just… talk."
He said, settling into an armchair across from her, a low table between them.
~ Cael: "We can play some music or simply enjoy the quiet. I want you to unwind tonight, nothing more."
She nodded and released a small exhale. The words wrapped around her like a quiet promise. She sank back into the sofa, letting the fabric cushion the tightness that had pressed against her all day
He handed her a mug of coffee, the warmth seeping into her palms, grounding her. She traced the rim absently with her thumb, noticing how the steam swirled lazily upward, a slow, meditative dance. He poured himself one as well, and for a few moments, neither spoke, letting the quiet stretch comfortably between them.
~ Zaya: "I'm glad I came."
He said softly, more to herself than to him.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes calm and steady.
~ Cael: "Good. You deserve a break, Zaya. Even the strongest lines can't hold under constant tension. Sometimes you just need to rest, and to be seen without having to perform."
She felt the words sink in as a small relief threaded through her ribs. The words offered comfort and understanding. They reminded her that someone could hold space for her while giving nothing in return.
For the first time in days, she allowed herself to let the tension ease, thread by thread, letting the quiet fill the space where anxiety had pressed relentlessly. And as the soft glow of lamps and the scent of coffee filled the apartment, she realized she had come not just for conversation, but for permission to simply exist, unmeasured and unjudged.
Cael leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady, almost contemplative.
~ Cael: "You know, It's important that you stay true to yourself. That part of you, the sharpness, the honesty...that's what makes your art breathe."
Zaya's throat tightened. She looked down at her cup, unsure how to respond.
~ Cael: "But..."
He continued, his tone gentle but firm.
~ Cael: "You're still new to this world. The art business isn't just about creation. It's… politics, egos, unspoken rules. If you push too hard, too soon, you risk burning your own bridge before it's built."
Her gaze lifted to meet his, searching.
~ Zaya: "So what should I do? Hide? Water myself down to make them comfortable?"
His lips curved into something between a smile and a frown.
~ Cael: "No Zaya. But you need to learn the balance. You need to find the middle ground where your truth comes through, where people feel it, but without crossing lines that could strangle your career before it has a chance to grow. There's a difference between rebellion and strategy."
The words settled over her. A knot twisted in her stomach, the same one that had been with her all night, but there was something different in the way he spoke, he wasn't dismissing her, wasn't asking her to compromise her soul. He was asking her to be patient, to be clever.
~ Zaya: "You think I'm reckless."
She said finally, her voice quiet.
~ Cael: "I think you're brave."
He answered, his tone low and certain.
~ Cael: "Bravery without thought becomes recklessness. But bravery with foresight?"
His gaze held hers, steady and unyielding.
~ Cael: "That's what carves a legacy."
Her breath caught in her chest. She felt the weight of his words anchor deep inside her, both unsettling and grounding. No one had spoken to her like that before. Others had offered warnings, threats, and criticism, but Cael spoke with clarity and calm.
She leaned back, sinking into the sofa, the tension in her chest unraveling thread by thread.
~ Zaya: "You make it sound so simple."
~ Cael: "It's not simple. And it won't ever be. Every choice you make will have a cost. That's the reality of this world. But if you learn how to measure those costs, when to fight and when to hold back, you'll last. That's how you build something that doesn't break the moment it's tested."
His words cut through the quiet with steady and unflinching force. His tone conveyed honest truth without softening it. The honesty pressed on her chest and demanded to be carried.
She looked at him, searching for even the faintest trace of doubt, but his expression was calm and unyielding. He wasn't warning her out of fear, he was laying out the battlefield as it was: brutal, unforgiving, and real.
She lowered her gaze back to her coffee, her reflection warped in the dark surface. The weight of his words lingered, sinking deep, heavy as stone, and she realized with a slow unease that he was right.
She sat in silence for a long moment, her grip tightening around the mug. The steam had thinned, the coffee cooling, but her thoughts burned hot, restless.
~ Zaya: "So what you're saying..."
She began, her voice low but edged with tension.
~ Zaya: "Is that I have to play their game. To pretend, bend and smile where I don't want to, just to survive?"
Her eyes flicked up to his, sharp, defiant.
~ Zaya: "And what happens to the truth then? To the art that's supposed to cut through the lies?"
Cael leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze locked on hers.
~ Cael: "You think I'm asking you to dilute yourself. I'm not. I'm telling you that truth has more than one language. Sometimes a whisper gets further than a shout."
Her jaw clenched, but she didn't look away.
~ Cael: "You can stay true to yourself without setting the whole room on fire. If you burn everything too soon, there's nothing left to carry your message forward. But if you learn to work inside the frame they give you, while slipping in what matters, piece by piece...that's how you last. That's how your truth actually survives."
Zaya's breath caught, the fight in her chest colliding with the clarity in his words. She hated how they cut through her, how they made sense.
~ Cael: "You don't betray yourself by choosing the right moment."
He said, softer now, but no less firm.
~ Cael: "You honor yourself. Because you've given your truth the chance to be heard, not buried."
Her shoulders slumped, a quiet exhale escaping her. She stared down into her cup, her reflection trembling in the dark surface.
~ Zaya: "It feels like compromise."
She admitted, almost bitter.
~ Cael: "It feels like control."
He corrected.
~ Cael: "And control is how you stay in the game long enough to change it."
She sat in silence, feeling the weight of the words in her chest. For the first time all night, the knot inside her began to loosen as she recognized that he was right. She could stay true to herself while making wiser choices.