Back at her home, the small apartment pulsed with movement. Messy. Lived-in. And currently absolutely chaotic. Not the kind of chaos born from neglect. This was the kind that sprang from life lived too quickly, too passionately… too fully.
A throw pillow lay abandoned on the floor, a half-empty mug of coffee sat dangerously close to the edge of a cluttered table, forgotten hours ago, the liquid inside now cold and uninviting. Clothes draped over the back of a chair like they had simply surrendered mid-task, too exhausted to make it to the bedroom.
And right in the middle of it all, Nina stood before her full-length mirror, script clutched in hand, completely immersed.
Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, strands escaping in every direction as though they possessed their own rebellious spirit. A pencil jutted through it at an odd angle, threatening to tumble out at any second. Her oversized hoodie slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin she didn't even register.
