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"I'M GOING BACK TO STARS HOLLOW," She breathed, watching his face contort in confusion, something close to sadness. "Not permanently." She added.
"Why?" That was Jess' only answer. One word. Even Quinn had expected more.
"This," she motioned to the view outside, the little boxed windows on faraway skyscrapers reflecting the early morning light. "I love it here, Jess. Don't get me wrong. I'm just... I'm losing inspiration. These streets are so full of people that are trying to do the same thing I'm doing. They went to Ivy Leagues and prestigious art schools hoping someone would pick them out of a crowd and buy their paintings and prints and whatever else. They want their works to be displayed in museums. They all want to be famous. You know... my first year in Rhode Island, I thought I was going somewhere. Now, though, I can't help but think I wasn't meant to do this. This life isn't how I pictured it. I thought that I'd be some famous painter, with my work in the MoMA, with critics comparing me to Matisse and LeWitt and Van Gogh. But I just feel like a failure."
"Hey," the man drew closer, fingers reaching out to stroke the locks of hair that framed her face. "Look at me, Quinn." She did. Her eyes were quickly filling up with tears, unexpected salt-water escaping down her cheeks. "You are an amazing artist. You have a beautiful soul, and your work is different. It means something. People don't know you, not yet. But they will." He pressed his lips to her still wet cheeks, the teardrops racing towards her chin.
"I'm still going back," she whispered. "I miss Rory, Lorelai, Lane... I even miss Taylor, surprisingly." The two chuckled in unison. "Maybe visiting will make me remember why I went to art school in the first place."
"I'll go pack," He said, standing up, until her small hand came to rest on his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the wooden chair.
