Her

She is sitting in a dark room, listening to the rain. The window is half-open, and a cold breeze slips inside. Her hair is messy, the room unorganized. Paint colors are spilled across the carpet, two portraits half-finished. In one corner, a painting of a green galaxy waits in silence.

The air carries the faint scent of a jasmine candle flickering in the balcony, where dried flowers seem to mourn their own fading. A sunset lingers in the room, and with it, a small red moon.

On her laptop, a slow violin plays. Still, she wrestles with the noise in her head — thoughts of this and that, if and when, who and why, age and goals. Yet in between all of it, she hums her favorite song, lying on the bed, one leg gently shaking with anxious energy.

Have you seen that girl?
I have.