I’m the kind of girl who paints constellations on teacups and writes poems on the back of grocery receipts. My voice is soft, but my imagination is loud—I’d rather sketch your smile in my notebook than take a selfie. You’ll find me in cozy corners with ink-stained fingers, turning raindrops on windows into short stories. I blush when complimented, but my heart? Oh, it sings in colors even I can’t name yet