chapter one: beneath the surface

Natasha is stuck in a perfect life she’s not sure she wants.

A rich family, a top university, and guys falling at her feet—but it all feels empty.

Her parents want her to take over the family business, but she’s craving something real.

That night, Natasha stepped out of the hell she called home and onto the bustling streets. The vibrant neighborhood pulsed with life—a sharp contrast to the suffocating dinner she had just escaped. Her parents had spent the entire evening discussing which Fortune 500 company she would join after graduation. Not once did they ask what she wanted.

She needed a break—from the pressure, from the expectations, from the perfect mask she wore every day.

Wandering down a narrow alley, she stumbled upon something raw and real: a street artist, completely lost in his craft, creating something that looked like it came straight from his soul.

The paintings were a riot of colors, each telling a story of struggle, of hope, of letting go. One piece stopped her cold.

"Fly even if you fall."

The words hit her like a punch, making her chest ache.

“Who wrote that… and why does it feel like it was meant for me?” she whispered.

Natasha took a picture and posted it on I*******m with no caption, waiting for something—a spark, a sign, a glimpse into the mind behind those words.

The artist didn’t know it, but he had just flipped a switch in her world.

On her way home, Natasha passed a small café and decided to stop for coffee. That’s where she saw Michael—her classmate—working part-time to support his family and pay his tuition.

He didn’t even bother to greet her. In school, everyone knew Natasha as the “queen bee,” while Michael was just an ordinary scholarship student.

The next day, Natasha sat with her friends at their usual cafeteria table, laughing. Everyone wanted to be her friend. Some envied her—but what they didn’t know was that, despite all the privilege, Natasha wasn’t happy.

Michael walked in, his eyes scanning the crowded room before settling on an empty seat far away from her.

Her friends didn’t notice, but Natasha’s gaze flicked toward him—messy hair, worn jeans, a sketchbook held tightly in his hands.

“Ugh, who let the art freak in?” Natasha said teasingly.

Michael quietly pulled out his lunch.

Natasha leaned closer to her friends. “Don’t sit near him,” she whispered.

One of them giggled. “Girl, he’s staring.”

Natasha glanced up and saw Michael looking at her. She rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Like I care,” she said, and they all laughed.

Michael felt a sting of embarrassment, but he was used to it. Still, their words piled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and left the cafeteria.

Natasha watched him go, a small flicker of guilt in her chest—but she ignored it.

Her friends laughed as he walked away angry carrying his lunch.