Chapter 17 The Story We're Writing .

The studio smelled like paper and lavender and late nights.

Stacks of handwritten pages were spread across the long oak desk. Pens tucked behind my ears, coffee gone cold beside my elbow, and music humming low in the background.

I was nearly finished.

Not just with the chapter. Not just with the book.

But with this part of my life I never t

            
            

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