The next few weeks were a blur of late nights, endless coffee, and trial-and-error.
Maya turned her tiny apartment into an office—her dining table buried in notebooks, sticky notes on the walls, and her laptop practically glued to her fingers.
She reached out to freelance writers, photographers, and designers—some from her old job, some she found through connections.
She taught herself website design, spent hours studying digital marketing, and even convinced a friend from college to help with branding.
Days turned into weeks, and slowly, Concrete Roses started to take shape.
But with growth came doubt.
One night, as Maya stared at the budget spreadsheet—red numbers glaring at her—panic crept in.
What if this failed?
What if she had walked away from a stable career just to end up back at square one?
Her phone buzzed.
Deja: Heard you're making moves. Don't stop now. The city needs what you're building.
Maya exhaled, gripping her wine glass.
Maybe she didn't have it all figured out. Maybe she was scared as hell.
But she had a vision. And that was enough to keep going.