Celina stood by the window, staring into the dark.

“I used to be painfully shy,” she began softly. “There was a boy who liked me once. We’d talk through little notes—my friends would pass them back and forth. I froze every time I even thought about looking him in the eyes. My mind told me to go… but my body wouldn’t move. I felt strange, out of place.”

She turned to face Thor again.

“At home, sometimes I’d sit on my bed and think: I don’t belong here. This family isn’t mine. It was a silent kind of pain, you know? A question that never left me.”

“Love…” Thor tried to speak, but she lifted a hand, asking him to let her continue.

“I’ve always struggled to stay consistent in anything. You have no idea how hard it was for me to write my first book. I think it’s awful—honestly. Every chapter felt wrong, incomplete. I chased perfection, but it never came. Even when I saw it growing on the platform, even now with the printed edition selling and people praising it… all I can see are the flaws