||Wesley's POV||A few days after that horrible exchange with Lila, I still struggled to take the thoughts out of my head.I was stuck in my studio, hoping to clear my mind.The entire place was a mess, yet somehow, the splash of colours seemed just perfect.I hadn’t meant to destroy anything, but somewhere between the silence and the ache, I had knocked over an easel. A smear of deep blue paint bled across the concrete floor like a wound I couldn’t stop reopening.I stared at the half-finished portrait of Lila on the wall, the one I’d started years ago when I thought love was simple.Her eyes had never looked right in the painting— and now that I looked at it, I saw the problem.It was too distant, too unreadable.Maybe I'd always known we were pretending. Maybe I just never wanted to admit it.The truth was, even before she opened up about her sexuality, there was never a spark. It was more like a forced union neither of us wanted to be in.Yet I refused to let go. And now, after
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