With a little encouragement, she began to talk. At first, her sentences were short, careful. But once she realized I was truly interested, her words began to flow.
She told me she paints late at night, after long days of cleaning different houses around the city. When most people are going to bed, she sits at a small table in her apartment with a cup of tea and a canvas, letting colors spill out all the feelings she carries but rarely speaks.
Then she admitted something she had barely told anyone.
