Viona's POV
A week after Jane laid out a path for my so-called "dream" and after that talk with my mother about hers, I still could not decide if becoming a prosecutor was truly what I wanted. Or if there was something else entirely.
I tapped my pen against the table, my gaze running over the paper for the tenth time. A list of possible dreams.
Cooking, sewing, baking, gardening, pianist, skating, swimming, journaling, fashion, owning a café, barista, art collector, reading, writing, painting, dancing, singing. Could I even sing?
Frustration bled into my grip as I scratched the pen hard against the page, carving a messy circle over everything, then slumped back into my chair.
From all those hobbies, all those "possible paths," nothing stood out. Nothing pulled at me.
I could do all of it. Because I could. Because I had to. Not because I wanted to. Not because my chest fluttered for it.
