The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, golden hue over the house. It had been a week since Nalani returned home, and the days felt like they were slipping through her fingers. She sat at her desk, surrounded by blank canvases and untouched art supplies, her mind a jumbled mess of ideas that refused to take shape. 

"After I went through all the trouble to buy all these because I was feeling excited thinking I had something in mind but there was nothing. Nothing! Argh!", she exclaimed. Her final art piece loomed over her like a shadow, a project she desperately needed to complete but couldn't seem to begin.

Every day, Lena would come over, her presence a whirlwind of energy and distraction. While Nalani appreciated her friend's attempts to lighten the mood, Lena's idea of fun often involved anything but quiet reflection and creativity.

"Nalani, you need to loosen up!" Lena exclaimed, sprawled across Nalani's bed, flipping through a magazine. "Let's go to the beach or something. The fresh air will do you good."

Nalani sighed, her fingers idly tapping a pencil against her sketchbook. "I know, Lena, but I really need to focus. This piece is important."

Lena rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. "You'll figure it out. You always do. But seriously, a little break wouldn't hurt."

"You're one to talk. Have you finished yours? I highly doubt it", Nalani scoffed but Lena was too busy flipping through the magazine in her hand.

"I'll figure it out", she replied, closing the magazine. "See, we'll both figure it out, right? So come on! We have plenty of time, don't we?", Lena stood on her bed. Nalani offered a weak smile but didn't respond. As Lena continued to chatter about weekend plans, a thought struck Nalani. 

She remembered her mother's room, the treasure trove of art pieces and sketchbooks that had once been her sanctuary. Maybe there, among her mother's past works, she could find the spark of inspiration she needed.

"Lena," Nalani said suddenly, cutting off her friend's latest story, "I think I need some time alone. I want to go through my mom's old things. Maybe I can find some inspiration there."

Lena sat up, her expression softening with understanding. "O-kay. If you need anything, just call me, okay? I'll just be around the block"

"Thanks, Lena," Nalani replied, feeling a rush of gratitude. "I appreciate it."

As Lena left, Nalani felt a sense of clarity. She made her way down the hall to her mother's room, the familiar door standing as a portal to the past. Pushing it open, she was greeted again by the soft scent of lavender and the comforting stillness of the room. It was like stepping back in time.

She moved to the vanity table first, running her fingers over the delicate lace doilies and the small, ornate jewelry box. Memories of her mother's laughter and gentle guidance filled her mind. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the corner where her mother's sketchbooks were piled.

Nalani knelt down and picked up the top one, carefully opening it. The pages were filled with breathtaking sketches, each one a testament to her mother's talent. She flipped through the book slowly, absorbing the details, the strokes, the passion that radiated from each drawing.

Her eyes landed on a half-finished painting, the lines and colors blending into something ethereal. It was as if her mother had captured a moment of pure emotion, frozen in time. Nalani felt a connection, a thread of creativity linking her to her mother. She could see the evolution of her mother's work, the growth and struggle, the moments of brilliance and the times of doubt.

As she delved deeper into the sketches, she found notes her mother had scribbled in the margins. Little thoughts, ideas, and musings about her art. One note in particular caught her eye: "Art is not about perfection. It's about expression. Let your heart guide your hand."

The words resonated deeply within her, breaking through the creative block that had held her captive. She closed the sketchbook, holding it to her chest for a moment as if to absorb her mother's wisdom through osmosis. Setting it aside, she continued to sift through the pile, unearthing more sketches, paintings, and notes. Then, her fingers brushed against something glossy.

Curious, Nalani pulled out an old magazine, the cover featuring a stunning painting by her mother. It was an issue dedicated to her mother's solo exhibit in Paris, a pinnacle of her career. The magazine cover bore her mother's name in bold letters: "Malina Lennox: The Heart of Expression."

Nalani opened the magazine, flipping through the pages with growing excitement. The photographs of her mother's work were breathtaking, each piece a testament to her extraordinary talent. The accompanying article detailed the exhibit, praising Malina's ability to convey profound emotion through her art.

Inspired by the connection to her mother's past achievements, Nalani felt a surge of determination. She decided she needed to see more of her mother's work, to immerse herself in the legacy that had been both a gift and a burden. Many of her mother's pieces had been sold and auctioned off after her death, but there were still places where she could study them.

Nalani quickly gathered her things and headed downstairs. "Nana, I'll be back before dinner!", she shouted as soon as she was down and went out the door, making her way to the school's library. The library was a vast repository of knowledge, and she knew it housed a collection of art magazines and textbooks that featured her mother's paintings. Her mother was famous after all. 

Entering the library, she felt a familiar sense of calm. She greeted the librarian and made her way to the art section. The shelves were lined with countless books and magazines, each holding the promise of inspiration. She carefully selected a few volumes that she knew featured her mother's work and settled into a quiet corner.

As she opened the first magazine, Nalani felt a wave of nostalgia. There, in vibrant color, were some of her mother's most celebrated pieces. She traced the lines with her eyes, absorbing the techniques and the emotions captured within each frame. The accompanying articles spoke of her mother's ability to evoke raw emotion, to tell a story with each brushstroke.

Nalani lost track of time as she pored over the books and magazines, each page revealing another facet of her mother's genius. She found an old auction catalog featuring a detailed account of a particularly famous painting that had been sold for an astronomical sum. The catalog described the piece as "a masterful blend of color and emotion, a true attestation to Malina Lennox's unparalleled talent."

As she read, Nalani felt a deep attachment to her mother, a sense of pride mixed with sorrow. She realized that her mother's art was not just about skill, but about the passion and heart she poured into every piece.

"Mom was... amazing. She was able to put a name to herself even after having me", she muttered as she stood up to get more textbooks. 

Nalani stood in the school library, a stack of art textbooks and magazines balanced in her arms. She made her way back to her table, her mind already bustling with ideas. As she turned a corner, something caught her eye. She stopped abruptly, nearly dropping her books.

There, hanging on the wall, was a painting unlike any she had ever seen. It was a masterful blend of colors, the brushstrokes so vivid and precise that it seemed to pulse with life. The emotion emanating from the piece was palpable, drawing her in and holding her captive. She stared at it, transfixed, her heart racing with a mix of awe and curiosity.

"Gardenia", she blurted out, mesmerized by the painting of the flower before her.