Screw the Script! I'm Done Pretending.

I died consumed by guilt. The archangel gave me a chance to be reborn, to right a single wrong: to return her destined love to my sister.
I watched her discuss art with him in a rehearsed, lifeless tone. I listened to her complain in the dead of night, "What's the point of these boring charity projects?" I buried the part of me that had connected with his soul in that coffee shop.
Until he gazed at my painting of a wandering girl and asked softly,
"Why refuse to collaborate? Your brushstrokes hide a loneliness even I have never voiced."
That’s when I realized—
What he was searching for was never a title or status, but a soul that resonated with his own.