Ethan
The clock on the wall read 1:37 AM, but in the studio upstairs, the world outside didn’t exist. Luna sat cross-legged on the floor, her notebook open, pen moving furiously across the page. Her hazel eyes were intense, scanning every word, erasing and rewriting lines, chasing some perfect rhythm she hadn’t yet found. The room smelled faintly of incense, coffee, and vinyl records — the comforting scents of her creative sanctuary. The soft hum of a record player in the corner mixed with the scratch of her pen. She muttered under her breath, a lyric she wasn’t sure about. A knock sounded softly at the door. “Luna?” The voice was calm, low, almost a grounding presence. Ethan stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim hallway light. His tall frame seemed impossibly steady, the edges of his shadow cutting across the cluttered studio floor. She didn’t look up. “I’m… almost done. Just give me a sec.” Her voice was tired but focused. Ethan stepped closer, careful not to make a sound. “It’s lat
About Ethan
The clock on the wall read 1:37 AM, but in the studio upstairs, the world outside didn’t exist. Luna sat cross-legged on the floor, her notebook open, pen moving furiously across the page. Her hazel eyes were intense, scanning every word, erasing and rewriting lines, chasing some perfect rhythm she hadn’t yet found. The room smelled faintly of i...Read more