She Called Me Hers'

Aria POV

There was something strange about the way her little brother kept hovering.

Leo usually acted like the world was one long anime arc and he was the main character. Loud, dramatic, and too cool to care about anything that didn't involve fictional sword fights. But today?

He was following her like a shadow.

"You're sure you don't want to bring the Nintendo?" he asked, for the third time.

Aria glanced over her shoulder, dragging her duffel bag through the hallway. "I'm going for a two-week art residency, not a vacation."

Leo leaned against the doorway of her room. "Still. You might get bored."

She gave him a small smile and kept packing. "I'll be fine."

Downstairs, her mom was stuffing last-minute things into a carry-on she insisted Aria take. "Snacks. Wet wipes. Your vitamins. And extra socks. Always take extra socks."

"Mom. "

"No arguments. You'll thank me when you're not walking around New York with blisters."

Her dad was waiting by the front door, car keys in hand, already triple-checking the time. "We leave in twenty. If we don't hit traffic, we'll be right on schedule."

It was real now.

The suitcases. The rush. The way her mom kept fluttering around like a nervous butterfly and her dad kept clenching and unclenching the steering wheel.

Two weeks in New York.

Two weeks in a luxury art residency with full sponsorship, private mentoring, and an actual competition that could launch her career.

She should have been floating.

But instead, her chest felt tight.

As if something was unfinished.

Her gaze drifted to the top drawer of her nightstand.

That stupid photo still sat there. Folded. Unframed. Crumpled at the edges from being handled too many times.

Lucien Gray.

He hadn't crossed her mind this morning. not until now.

But the truth was, his shadow still lived in the corners of her memory.

She reached into the drawer.

Pulled it out.

Looked at it once.

Then tore it straight down the middle.

"Wrong chapter," she said under her breath.

Then she dumped the pieces in the bin without flinching.

The car ride to the airport had been strangely quiet. Not tense, just full. Like the air itself was swollen with everything no one wanted to say out loud.

Aria sat in the backseat with her little brother's head resting on her shoulder. Leo, who never liked cuddles. Who used to call her dramatic and roll his eyes anytime she got sappy, suddenly didn't want to let go.

"You sure you packed your charger?" her dad asked for the third time.

"Yes, Dad."

"Your sketchbooks?"

"Packed."

"Painkillers? In case you. "

"Dad," she cut in, smiling softly. "I packed everything. Even my nerves."

At the terminal, her mom hugged her first. Tight. Too tight. Like she thought she could squeeze in all the words she hadn't said.

"You don't need to make anyone proud," her mom whispered, brushing a curl behind Aria's ear. "Just make yourself happy. That's enough."

Her dad came next. He didn't say much. Just held her close and slipped a folded piece of paper into her palm.

She unfolded it after they pulled away.

Three words, scrawled in his scratchy handwriting:

"Don't forget to call."

Her chest ached.

Leo sniffled. "I still think they picked the wrong sister."

"You don't have a sister," she replied, smirking through the tears.

"Exactly."

She laughed and hugged him last. Tighter than usual.

"Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone."

"No promises."

They stood at the glass wall and waved until she disappeared past the gate. Her mom was crying. Her dad pretended not to. Leo gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, "You got this."

Aria sat on the plane, hands trembling slightly as it began to move. She looked out the window one last time.

Arrival in New York

air in New York smelled different.

Colder. Sharper. Like everything was bigger and faster than what she left behind.

And now, she was here.

A black car was already waiting for her sleek, silent, with tinted windows and a silver Artspire Foundation logo printed on the door. The driver, dressed in all black, simply nodded at her, took her bags, and opened the backseat without saying a word.

The ride to Bellwood Creative Estate took almost an hour. She spent most of it staring out the window, watching the city stretch and blur into quiet countryside. Her stomach twisted with nerves and disbelief. It didn't feel real. After years of trying, after getting told she wasn't enough, she had finally made it.

She was one of the twenty.

She was here.

The car slowed as they approached tall black iron gates. The sign above them was carved from old stone and said simply:

"Bellwood."

The estate itself was stunning acres of green, a lake shimmering in the distance, tall glass buildings that looked like art themselves. It felt more like a retreat for billionaires than a residency for artists.

But what stole her breath was the room they gave her.

When the staff guided her upstairs to the corner suite, Aria stopped in the doorway.

It was… hers.

Not just a room. But hers.

The walls were painted in soft neutral tones with hints of gold. The desk was already scattered with paint tubes and sketchbooks. her favorite brand. Even the brushes were the kind she always borrowed but could never afford. A bookshelf near the window held art history books she'd once mentioned loving in a forgotten interview.

Her color palette was already arranged on the side table. Even the sheets were soft lavender. her comfort color.

"How…?" she whispered.

She hadn't listed any of these preferences in her application.

But maybe they researched her. Maybe this was just what luxury artist residencies were like. She didn't want to question it too much. Not now.

She stepped inside, dropped her bags, and walked to the window. The view overlooked a peaceful garden with white stones arranged in deliberate, delicate shapes.

Something about it felt like a painting she hadn't finished yet.

A knock came at the door.

She turned. A young woman, maybe in her twenties, stood there in a navy Artspire uniform.

"Hi, Miss West. I'm Elsie. Just wanted to welcome you again. Dinner is at 6:30 in the main lounge. Tomorrow, we'll take you through orientation."

Aria nodded. "Thanks."

Elsie smiled. "Oh. and congratulations again. You were our highest-scored applicant."

When she left, Aria sank into the chair by the window.

Highest scored?

She couldn't stop the smile.

After so many rejections, so many no's, someone finally saw her. Saw the soul she poured into every line. Every messy, aching sketch.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh paper, clean linen, and something faintly floral that reminded her of her mom's hand lotion. She wasn't just seen.

She was understood.

For a moment, she let herself believe it was all real. That maybe, for once, life was finally giving her a break.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from leo:

"Did you land safe? Don't forget socks."

She smiled, fingers flying across the screen:

"Yes. Room's perfect. You'd hate it. Too quiet. And not your Anime or cartoon taste"

Another message popped up. From her mom. A picture of the kitchen back home with her dad flipping pancakes and a text:

"Already missing you. Dad burnt breakfast."

Aria laughed out loud. That soft, half-crying laugh that left her eyes glassy.

She held the phone to her chest and whispered, "I'll call. I promise."

Then her gaze fell to the sketchbook by the bed.

She walked to it slowly, opened to the first page, and pressed her pencil to the paper.

And for the first time in a long time…

She didn't draw him.

She drew herself.

Feet on the ground. Chin tilted upward. Eyes wide open.

This time, the girl in the picture wasn't lost in love or fading in silence.

This time, she looked like she belonged here.