The morning sun slipped through the curtains, painting the room in gold and soft pink. Elena sat on the floor, her legs folded beneath her, a blank journal open in front of her. The city outside was already awake, buzzing faintly through the window.
She held her pen for a while, staring at the clean page. Nothing came out. Not yet.
"Come on, Elena," she murmured to herself, tapping the pen against the page. "You've faced worse than a blank journal."
She let out a soft laugh. "Or maybe you just don't know where to start."
The room was quiet. Only the ticking of the clock and the faint creak of the wooden floor filled the silence. It felt peaceful, almost too peaceful. For once, she wasn't rushing anywhere.
Her thoughts drifted back over the past year — everything she'd faced, everything she'd lost, everything she'd found. She could still see her father's tired eyes when the debts piled up. Her mother's forced smile. The fear that used to keep her up at night.
