It wasn’t an introduction. It was a key.

He wrote another sentence, then another. They were clumsy, like a foal learning to walk. But they were moving . By 1:15 AM, he had a messy, chaotic, wonderful draft. It wasn’t his best work. But it existed.

So, instead of staring at the blank page, Leo opened a new document and typed something he never had before:

For a minute, nothing. Then, his fingers began to move on their own.

Then, he remembered something his old art teacher, Mrs. Abadi, once said: “You don’t fight a block. You ask it a question.”

It was 11:47 PM, and Leo’s screen was a pale blue ghost in the dark of his room. He had an essay due in nine hours, but his brain had hit a wall so solid it felt like concrete.