Tuesday's class passed, Wednesday crawled by, and Thursday rolled around the corner, finding me sitting in art class, for the last time. I worked vigorously, pencil gliding across the page, stopping to think and stare every few minutes, trying to put to use everything he'd taught me. Hold your pencil like this. Don't make the lines too heavy or dark first. You can work your way up. Short lines can combine to make bigger ones.

I narrowed my eyes at the page. If you squinted and tried really hard...it kinda looked better. I think.

I sighed and put my head down on the table. Damian shifted in front of me, poking my head with a pencil.

"Hey, pick your head up. I can't see your face."

"Mmrgh."

Just draw it however you want. It ain't all that anyway.

I groaned and sat up, looking at him, tired. "Better?"

"Smile a bit."

I stuck my tongue out, wrinkling my nose.

"Tch."

I giggled.

"Better."

I raised my head in surprise, but he was already busy working. Huh.

Twenty minutes later, the professor called time. This was it. Our last project was gonna be turned in, now. I got up and stretched, yawning. Euh...I'm done.

Damian stood up, his chair screeching against the floor and I winced. He picked up his paper and turned towards the teacher.

"Aren't you gonna show me?" I asked, pushing in my chair, leaning against it.

He raised an eyebrow over his shoulder. "You curious?"

I paused for a moment, and nodded, peering at him through my glasses. He turned around, fully facing me and tilted his head. I watched a few strands of hair fall onto his forehead.

"Fine, here's the deal. I'll show it to you if you show me yours."

I nodded again, harder this time. I'd done it with him in mind anyway.

He seemed surprised and straightened his head, eyes studying me. After a moment, he extended his arm, paper in hand, face down, dropping his eyes to the table. I took it from him, hesitant, curiosity burning in my chest. When I flipped it over, my heart stopped.

It was me alright. Good Lord.

      He'd drawn it in such detail...I was sitting behind the table, head tilted to the side as I stared at the paper in front of me. My hair fell over my shoulder, a few locks dipping down in front of my face, getting in my eyes. One hand was buried in my hair, fingers tangled in the tresses, elbow resting against the table. The other was tapping my pencil against my pursed lips, my brow slightly furrowed, eyes on my paper.

The slope of my nose, curve of my lips, my hands...they were all drawn perfectly.

This was me.

Except...prettier. Not quite the way I'd been seeing myself. Different.

A smile tugged on my lips, a soft heat crept up my cheeks. I looked up at him. He was studying the black tabletop between us.

"Thanks," I whispered, rubbing my eye.

He looked up and gave me a smile. "You saw mine, now your turn."

I tilted my head, watching him for a second. I sighed and handed him my work, face down, just like he'd done.

"Don't laugh."

His jaw clenched and he nodded, lips twitching as he flipped it over. He snorted.

I covered my face with my hands. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"I'm not, I'm not." He chuckled.

"Yes you did. Stop being a butt."
He ran a hand through his hair, displacing the little strands that were so neatly put together a few seconds ago, biting his lip.

"It's...different."

"It's terrible."
"No, no. Different isn't terrible."

I frowned. "Yeah, right."

He flipped it over and a second paper fluttered to the floor. He glanced at me as he bent down to pick it up. My smile faded as I clutched the back of the chair in front of me, digging my nails into the rough plastic. I breathed in slowly as he straightened, reading the paper.

Hours passed and I busied myself with the dots and dashes on the white tiled floor, scuffing my shoes against them, tracing lines and connecting dots. My heart thumped in my chest.

After an eternity, he laughed softly and I swallowed, looking up at him.

"Ah. You don't know how much I just--" He stopped and clamped his mouth shut, then blew out a breath.

"I just..." He looked at me, struggling as he rubbed the back of his neck.

I stepped back, all of a sudden glad for the table between us. "You what?" I searched his face. "Love it, hate it?"

His dark eyes burned into me, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he shook his head.

"No. Definitely not hate."

I pursed my lips and pushed myself away from the table.

"Good. Well, let's go turn these in then." I started walking towards the front.

"I can keep the second one, right?"

I stopped and nodded, not turning around, the heat rising swiftly up my neck again.

"Yes."

"'Kay."

I turned my paper in and hurried out of class, giving Damian a quick wave without looking at him. I'd never let someone actually see the letters I wrote. Now he'd seen two. And one of them was for him. I thought back to it. I'd done my quick sketch for the assignment on Tuesday and spent all of class today writing the letter instead.

It was a word drawing. One of those drawings where the words fill in the spaces, making up a picture when they come together.

Mine wasn't that complicated or fancy. I thought of what I'd written.

Damian.

Hey.

Urgh. This is harder than I thought. What do I write when I know you'll be reading this right in front of me?

Well, if you're reading this, it means you've found it at least, and haven't just turned it in along with the crappy drawing. That's good, I think.

I'm staring at you across the table, watching you draw. Your hair's falling in your face again as you're sitting here, in front of me. The scar's almost gone. The muscles in your cheeks are clenching and unclenching as you move your pencil across the page. I never did figure out how you did that. How you seem to draw like it's the only thing keeping you here. I can barely draw a circle perfectly.

This is why I'm writing this instead of making some artwork portrait thingy that would suck anyway. You don't deserve that. Not after all the time you put in helping me.

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help me. God knows you probably had better things to do than sit in the dirt under that tree for hours, teaching a stubborn girl who wouldn't listen and never improved. I can't imagine how frustrating that must've been.

But I'm kind of feeling bad, now that it's almost over. I wish I'd tried harder. I wish I hadn't complained so much, or gotten so annoyed so quickly. I wish I hadn't been so reluctant for it to end. Because now it's almost over and I want it back. I wish I'd tried harder. If not for me, then for you. Because you didn't deserve to have an annoying girl to teach. You don't, I mean. You don't deserve that.

Professor Whatshername took me aside after class during that week you were sick. She told me I was actually passing. She was impressed with the effort, if not the bare minimum progress I'd made. And guess what? That's all because of you. I wouldn't have been able to do this if you weren't here, so thank you.

Ah..I'm actually kind of feeling pretty darn terrible about it now. What the heck. I'm sorry. I really am.

And thank you again. Not just for the art tutoring, but for all of it. The late nights in the courtyard where you'd just sit with me for no reason, the coffee breaks, the flowers. That day you saw me cry. All of it. You didn't have to, you know? Of course you do.

But you did it anyway.

I probably won't even see you in classes anymore. It's gonna be weird, not having classes with you. You made art class more bearable, you really did.

So thanks.

I hope you've pulled back long enough to see what I've drawn? It's not perfect, I know. But I'm not you. And I tried this time, I really did. And I know this isn't the most traditional drawing, so I really hope you found this and not the professor, because if she does, I think I'll just fail. Maybe it isn't traditional, and maybe it isn't something you'd do, but maybe...maybe this is a kind of art too?

~Sincerely,

Zeenath.

     The whole letter was written into a drawing of a young boy in a baseball cap standing in front of the towering walls of a castle, the door standing open in front of him. The words filled in the spaces, covering the walls, the two towers, the doors, the boy. There were no blank spaces, except inside the doorway, the white space a stark contrast to the area around it. My name was signed at the bottom, the only cursive swirl on the page.

I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking of the letter. I'm not even sure if he even liked it. I'm such a dork. Urgh. Should've just shut up and let him laugh.

Meergh. Why do I do this to myself.

Finals are next week. Then it's time to head on back home again. The semester will be over soon. Back to Yunus. Back to my bedroom. The memories.

But Noel. Nick. Ericka. They aren't that far away. And I'll be there the whole month.

Funny. I was just starting to think of this place as home.

~Zeenath.