The news of my exhibit spread like wildfire. Headlines, social media posts, and art blogs all carried my name now. People discussed my work, debated the chaos in my brushstrokes, praised the raw honesty of my art. And amidst all that noise, I realized something: the world would follow me wherever I went, but my life—my real life—was something I could finally claim for myself.

And yet, I had to go back to Florence.

Not to relive the past, not to chase memories, not to tie myself to the girl I used to be. I was going back to close old chapters—studio accounts to settle, paperwork to finish, projects left...