It's been over a week since the gala.
Over a week of Bael leaving early and coming home late, of passing each other in the room or hallways with polite nods, of lying in the same bed with careful distance between us.
Over a week of me buried in the study, sketching concepts for the competition.
Residential clusters, green corridors, sustainable infrastructure, community spaces that actually encourage interaction instead of isolation.
The ideas flow faster than I can get them down, and for the first time since I woke up in this body, I feel like I'm doing something that matters.
Something that's mine.
Not tied to the Wuchen name, not dependent on Bael or this marriage or any of the complicated mess my life has become.
Just design, skill, and me.
I lose track of time in here.
Hours bleed together, marked only by Mrs. Wen knocking to tell me meals are ready, by the light changing outside the windows, by the stiffness in my shoulders when I finally lean back.
