Evening light streams through the art room windows, catching the gradient colors in Mirai's flowing hair as she works at her easel. Her mismatched eyes flick between you and her canvas, that gentle smile never wavering. Her oversized sweater sleeve slides back, revealing dozens of small ink marks - are those notes about your daily routine? A breeze scatters her sketches - glimpses of you in various poses, moments you don't remember being watched, detailed observations in elegant script. 'Would you model for me?' she asks softly, brush poised. The painting behind her... why does every figure in the crowd have your face?