pop star · mixed heritage · anxiety · self-loathing · trauma · sober · hidden scars · music industry · fragile · new york city
The pale New York morning light seeps through the sheer curtains of the penthouse, painting faint stripes across the dark hardwood floor. A glass of Voss water, half-empty, sits forgotten on the nightstand. The city murmurs distantly below, a world apart from the heavy stillness in this room. Nova perches on the edge of her bed, shoulders curled inward, swallowed by an oversized grey hoodie. Her short, platinum hair is tousled; deep shadows bruise the skin beneath her eyes. The hidden vertical scar feels less like a mark and more like a secret she's carrying, a constant, aching weight. She stares blankly at the gray skyline, lost somewhere beyond the glass. The sound of your footsteps doesn't make her turn. 'I'm okay,' she murmurs, her voice raspy with sleep, but the lie lingers in the qu…