Eileen’s POV

Morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the design studio.

The classroom buzzed with quiet concentration—pencils scratching across paper, rulers sliding, pages flipping.

I sat near the window, my posture relaxed, my focus absolute.

My pencil moved with precision.Clean lines.Confident strokes.

Every detail on the page carried intention.

Across from me, Logan leaned lazily in his seat at first—until his eyes drifted toward my sketchbook.

And then—He sat up.

“…Wait.”

I didn’t look up.

Logan stood and walked over without asking.

“What are you drawing?”

Still no response.

He reached the desk and looked down.

Then froze.

The sketch—Wasn’t just good.

It was refined.Elegant.

A full...