I watched her eyes move across the display, not like someone searching for flaws, but like someone genuinely moved by what she saw. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she asked about flavors and designs, pointing to the ones she loved. When she finally looked up and told me, with quiet conviction, “Your work is beautiful,” something in me broke open. Not because I needed her approval, but because I realized I no longer feared her perspective—or anyone else’s.
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