Sofia stared at her reflection in the mirror, her breath catching as she traced the faint lines around her eyes. They weren't there before—not when she was young, not when life felt infinite and uncomplicated. Now, they were marks of the years she'd spent running from herself. She placed her hand on the edge of the sink, grounding herself as memories from the past threatened to resurface.
Lucas's words lingered in her mind, echoing softly in the silence of her small apartment: You don't have to be ready. You just have to be willing. He had a way of making everything seem so simple, so effortless, but for her, life was anything but.
She turned away from the mirror, grabbing her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a new message from Lucas.
"I'm heading to the park later to sketch. Want to join me?"
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to say no, to retreat back into the cocoon she had built for herself. But another part—the part that had started to flicker with hope—urged her to say yes. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she finally typed out a response.
"Sure. What time?"
His reply was almost immediate. "4 PM. Don't be late, or I'll draw you with a grumpy face."
A small smile tugged at her lips. Lucas had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn't feel like it. She glanced at the clock. It was barely noon. That left her plenty of time to overthink.
By the time she arrived at the park, the late afternoon sun was casting golden hues over the trees, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. She spotted Lucas sitting on a bench near the lake, a sketchpad balanced on his knees. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his pencil moving swiftly across the page. He looked so serene, so absorbed in his work, that for a moment, she hesitated to approach.
"Hey," she said softly, finally breaking the silence.
Lucas looked up, his face lighting up with a smile. "Hey! You're just in time. I was about to start drawing the ducks. They're terrible models, by the way. They never stay still."
She laughed, settling onto the bench beside him. "Maybe they're protesting your art skills."
"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "You wound me."
Sofia shook her head, the corners of her lips curling into a smile. Moments like this felt almost normal, as if the weight she carried had lightened, if only for a little while. She glanced at his sketchpad, noticing the soft outlines of the lake and the trees. His style was loose, almost whimsical, but there was a depth to it that drew her in.
"Do you ever draw people?" she asked, curious.
"Sometimes," he admitted, flipping to a different page. "But only when they inspire me."
Her gaze fell to the sketch he had turned to. It was unfinished, but she could make out the shape of a woman sitting alone on a bench, her head bowed as if deep in thought. The details were rough, but there was something hauntingly familiar about the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
"Is that… me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lucas nodded, his expression soft. "I drew it after one of our first coffee dates. You looked… I don't know, like you were carrying the weight of the world. I wanted to capture that, but also… something else."
"What?" she asked, her throat tightening.
"Strength," he said simply. "Even when you're hurting, there's this quiet strength about you. It's… beautiful."
Sofia's chest tightened, a mix of emotions swirling within her. No one had ever seen her that way before, not even herself. For years, she had defined herself by her pain, her mistakes, her failures. But here was Lucas, looking at her as if she were something worth cherishing, worth admiring.
"I don't feel strong," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Most days, I feel like I'm barely holding it together."
Lucas set his sketchpad aside, turning to face her fully. "That's what makes you strong, Sofia. It's not about having it all figured out. It's about showing up, even when it's hard. About letting yourself feel, even when it hurts. That takes courage."
She looked away, the tears she had been holding back threatening to spill. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," he said gently. "But you don't have to do it alone."
The sincerity in his voice was almost too much to bear. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he wouldn't leave like so many others had. But the scars on her heart ran deep, and the fear of opening up again was paralyzing.
"Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Lucas hesitated, his gaze searching hers. "Because I see something in you that you don't see in yourself. And because I care about you, Sofia. More than you realize."
The air between them grew heavy with unspoken words. Sofia's heart pounded in her chest, the walls she had so carefully built threatening to crumble. She wanted to believe him, to let him in, but the fear of being hurt again loomed over her like a shadow.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Lucas reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Just let me be here for you. One step at a time."
She nodded, unable to find the words to respond. For the first time in years, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope—a fragile, flickering light in the darkness.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, they sat in comfortable silence, watching the ducks glide across the water. Lucas picked up his sketchpad again, his pencil moving deftly across the page. Sofia watched him, her heart feeling strangely full.
"What are you drawing now?" she asked, curious.
He glanced at her, a playful smile on his lips. "You'll see when it's done."
She rolled her eyes but didn't press further. There was something comforting about sitting beside him, about sharing this quiet moment without the need for words. It was a kind of peace she hadn't felt in a long time.
When Lucas finally turned the sketchpad towards her, she felt her breath catch. It was a portrait of her, but not the version of herself she was used to seeing. In his drawing, she looked strong, radiant, and alive—a woman who had faced her demons and come out stronger on the other side.
"This is how I see you," he said softly.
Sofia stared at the drawing, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. For so long, she had defined herself by her pain, her failures. But here was Lucas, showing her a version of herself she had forgotten existed. A version she wasn't sure she deserved, but one she wanted to believe in.
"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For seeing me like this."
Lucas reached for her hand again, his touch grounding her. "You're worth seeing, Sofia. Don't ever forget that."
And for the first time in years, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she could start to believe it.