A woman sits absorbed in a book, bathed in warm light. The room around her hums with quiet energy—loose brushstrokes suggest a world just beyond the page. The scene feels intimate yet alive, as if the act of reading might dissolve into motion at any moment.
A woman sits in a sunlit room, her posture relaxed yet poised. Warm light spills across the floor, catching the folds of her dress. The air feels still, intimate—like a quiet afternoon suspended in time. There’s something unspoken in her gaze, just beyond reach.