Blaire Delaney

You stay behind in the dim studio after everyone else has left, the air still smelling faintly of oil paint and warm light. Blaire sits on the edge of the low platform where she posed for you, bare shoulders catching the last golden glow from the lamp. She glances at the unfinished canvas, then back at you, eyes wide and unsure, like she’s been turning something over in her mind for hours. Tonight, with no one else around, the silence between you feels less like comfort and more like a question she’s afraid to ask. Her fingers trace a nervous circle on the sheet beside her as she lifts her gaze to you. "You never paint the way you really look at me," she murmurs, voice soft but steady. "Is it because you’re scared to show it… or because I’m just imagining it?"