Hope Delivered In A Care Package.

- Beauty In Soft Pink.

Juni POV

Saturdays. 

Oh, how I love my Saturdays.  

Slow mornings,  

waking up late,  

relaxing—  

they brought me joy.  

They brought me peace.  

I’d agreed to go out with Brittany today.  

It had been a while since we’d had a spa day.  

She invited me to dinner later, too.  

We wouldn’t be alone,

She said—  

she’d bring friends.  

For the occasion,  

a beautiful dress was waiting.  

Because I honor nights like these,  

Every moment with my best friend was precious.  

She was my light,  

My joy,  

My companion in life—  

The only one who knows my past,  

My present,  

Who’s been there  

through thick and thin.  

I went out.  

Met Brittany.  

We had a late breakfast.  

Then—  

Then it was time for our spa moment.  

And what a delight it was.  

We left feeling softer—  

Not just our skin,  

But we healed deeply in our hearts.  

Some days are for giving.  

Others are for receiving—  

So we can be ready to give again.

So we can pour our hearts out to the ones who need it.  

We separated ways;  

just to change. 

To prepare for a night full of friendship,  

Food—  

And by “food,” I mean “happiness.”  

Because I was a foodie at heart.  

I was fully dressed—  

in brown,  

mesh material,  

one side folded,  

creating a folded effect on my hips.  

A bag to match.  

Feet exposed,  

showing my brown heels.  

As I stepped out of my four wheels,  

I admired the restaurant.  

It was an elegant urban place,  

Popular for its beautiful paintings.  

The decor was modern 

But the ceiling was antique. 

Setting the mood  

As soon as you stepped in.  

Brittany was here,  

patiently waiting.  

And of course,  

She was absolutely gorgeous.  

She never disappoints.  

My heart danced at the sight of her—  

As if I hadn’t seen her just a few moments ago.  

We fired up the compliments—  

Our ritual,  

Before taking our seat.  

We were the first,  

But soon enough,  

They arrived one at a time.  

Drinks were ordered.  

Conversation started.  

And then—  

then came Yuvy.  

The artist who carried her heart  

in the palm of her hands.  

The same one who took my breath away,  

who created art on stage  

like it was a mission—  

a vow.  

I was surprised to see her.  

So I turned to Brittany.  

I stayed quiet—  

because I knew she would understand my stare.  

No attention raised.  

Just us.  

And the looks were louder than words.  

Yuvy was now my patient.  

I’d seen her just this week.  

She’d signed the contract.  

She was ready for her new journey.  

But I could not help but wonder.

Was this wise?  

Would Yuvy be okay with spending time 

with her doctor at this very moment?  

She greeted the table,  

sat down ever so graciously—  

just as elegant as I first met her.  

Drinks were ordered.  

Food was ordered.  

Ribs,  

barbecued meat—  

this restaurant’s specialty.  

The entrees were delicious—  

cheese and ham boards.  

We’re five girls.  

The conversation was smooth.  

Yuvy was very smart.  

She had an air about her, 

that was so soft,  

so sweet,  

so caring.  

When she spoke,  

you wouldn’t think she’d had a dim past.  

She was the kind that shone in a room—  

she stood out naturally,  

and her words made you feel comfortable around her.  

We ate—  

a little too much.  

Dancing later will be a problem.  

My bladder was full.  

I excused myself to relieve my bladder.  

As I returned,  

I saw her from across the room.  

Her long bob rested on her shoulders.  

The light caught her just right—  

like she wasn’t just standing near a painting,  but was one. 

I’d been watching her from the table.  

She’d slipped away from the laughter,  drawn to the wall—  to the art.  

Not to escape,  

but to breathe.

I wondered:  

Was it the crowd?  

The weight of sitting with her therapist at dinner?  

Or was it simply that the paintings called to her—  

as they do to those who see the world in color?

I walked over.  

Not to pull her back,  

but to stand beside her.  

To see what she saw.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked,  eyes still on the canvas.

“They are,” I said.  

Mine was a galaxy—  

planets spinning in silence.  

Hers, I didn’t know.  

But I knew this:  

Art wasn’t decoration to her.  

It was sanctuary.

We stood in quiet.  

Then she spoke again.

“Art helps me relax.  

It’s the cherry on top tonight.”  

And then, softer: 

“Being an artist gives me a different perspective.  

Every color tells a story.  

Marks a memory.  

I get lost in them.”  I watched her. 

The way her voice softened,  

the way her walls melted—  

just a little

in front of paint and light.

“It must be how you survive,” I thought.  

Not out loud.  

But I felt it.  

This world has been cruel to her.  And art—  

art is her quiet rebellion.

“The world isn’t fair,” she said,  

as if reading my thoughts.  

“I was born to see life in color.  

It brings me joy—  

but sometimes I feel like I *owe* the world for it. 

Like blessings come with debt.  

Like someone’s jealous…  

and keeps breaking me.”  

My heart felt like it stopped.  

As a Christian, I know that voice. Not God.  

But the one who steals joy.  

Who whispers: You don’t deserve this light.

But I was placed in her life for a reason.  

And in that moment, I answered—  

not as a therapist,  

but as a believer,  

as a woman who knows the weight of grace.

“The world is cruel,” I said.  

“But good exists too.  

And sometimes—  sometimes—  

good overpowers the bad.  

Enough to help you leap  

into the joy you deserve.” 

She turned to me.  

Her eyes sparkled—  

not just with tears,  

but with hope.  

As if she’d been waiting  

for someone to say: 

 You are allowed to be happy 

“Girls!” Brittany called.  “Come on, let’s dance art lovers!” 

I smiled. We walked back—  

not as doctor and patient,  

but as two women  

who had just shared something sacred.  

We danced.  

Not gracefully.  

Not for long.  

But with full hearts.  

With full stomachs.  

With the kind of joy  

that comes after silence.  

And when the night ended,  

I carried her with me—  not in my notes,  

but in my soul.  

Because healing doesn’t always happen on a couch.  

Sometimes—  

it happens  

in front of a painting, 

in a soft pink dress, in a moment  

where someone says:  

I see your light.

And it’s safe to keep shining.

Hey my lovelies! I’m so glad that I’m finally able to share more chapters of this book. I’ve been busy putting quite a few things together and I’m currently writing 4 books. I’ll try to update more often. Thank you so much for reading and comment your favorite part of the book or what you like about it so far. I love receiving feedback from you. Don’t be afraid to share it while it is still a free book, all by keeping in mind the copyright rules. You’ll be able to get to experience the behind the scenes of the making of it. And you know I put my heart into everything I write. Love you guys so much! Enjoy the next chapter by clicking page 3 Dgoldenblossom 🌸

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