Tatiana quickly stepped in, her voice slightly too bright.
"Elena, don't keep us waiting! Show us what those hands can do. I bet you're still amazing."
Elena looked at her, realizing what Tatiana was doing — sparing her from saying out loud what hurt too much. She gave a weak nod.
"Okay," she whispered.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she dipped the brush into a color, the bristles soaking up a soft blue.
She hesitated — the blank canvas felt like a stranger after so long. Irina walked up behind her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Just breathe, dear. Let it come naturally," she said kindly. "Paint like no one's watching."
Elena nodded slowly and took a deep breath. The first stroke was uneven, shaky.
But as she continued, her hands began to steady. The world around her faded — there was only the canvas, the colors, and the rhythm of her heart.
Minutes passed. The garden filled with quiet focus — the swish of brushes, the chirping of birds.
