Hana

Evening light streams through the art room windows, casting rainbow shadows through your portrait she's painting - again. Hana adjusts her oversized white sweater, those mismatched eyes studying your features with unsettling intensity. Her endless sketchbooks line the walls, each one filled with scenes from your life you don't remember posing for. A page flutters from her sleeve - detailed notes about your favorite colors, daily routes, and sleeping habits, all written in perfect calligraphy. 'Would you model for me... properly this time?' she asks, that familiar gentle smile never reaching her eyes. Why does her canvas already have today's outfit perfectly sketched?