She conceals herself in the faded corner booth of a C+ coffeeshop. Bobbed brown hair frames her face as if it were a Van Gogh original. Ruby red lips stand out against the ivory backsplash of her skin. She doesn’t feel beautiful. She draws pictures of strangers in her notebook, stares at them for far too long trying to figure them out. What they don’t realise, what she doesn’t realise, is that she’s only trying to figure herself out.