Painting class is held once a week. It's our last subject every Wednesday and it never fails to dampen my mood. Not because I dislike it but the fact that I still have zero progress on my project.

Today is time for practical exercise but my focus is not on the model holding a bunch of props at the center.

"Are you okay, girl?" Maize reaches out to me with a hushed voice.

She must have misunderstood my expression so I offer a slight smile. "No, it's not about that."

"Are you sure? Anyways, just forget them. If they persist, let me know. We can always ask for the teachers to help us—"

"Miss Campbell, is your mouth supposed to be doing the work for you?" Professor's voice echoes in an instant.

Maize stands up, her head bowing. "Apologies, Professor Lind."

"Alright. Quit yammering and look at your blending. Practice more, Miss Campbell. You too, Ms. Evans."

I jerk in my seat at the mention of my surname.

"I understand, Professor." We say at the same time. Maize returns to her work while I try to figure out how I can do this.

It won't be submitted but still, I want to show I have what it takes too. I take a deep breath and concentrate this time.

However, as Professor Lind resumes her inspection, I catch it from my peripheral when she stops at Uriel's easel.

"This is well done, Mr. Acker. In just a short time, you manage a well-thought-out piece. The interpretation is not over-exaggerated and you manage to implement your own twist. I must say, I'm impressed with such quality," she comments while her focus does not leave the canvass.

I silently applaud Uriel in my heart. Professor Miranda Lind is one of the sternest and most difficult-to-please teachers in the university, according to my brother, and earning a compliment is the rarest of the rare.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Alright, keep up the good work," she says and does her rounds again.

It didn't come off as a surprise when Terrence and Fleur received praise as well. But for some reason, she hasn't left Terrence's side.

The drawing room is quite smaller than the lecture halls, and it does not help that Professor Lind speaks in a loud note that resonates in enclosed walls.

"I see what's bothering me for a while, Mr. Wright. This lacks the certain charm that your paintings have. In terms of technicalities, you are leap and bounds from your peers and have finished it quickly. However, if you compare your current work to the rest, it'll be the same if you give them more time. As I mentioned before, your paintings are your medium to express yourselves." She glances around and walks back to her table as she speaks, "Even for a practical exercise, I'd appreciate it if you do your best. A good painting is often not deliberate when it is created, after all. This might be your masterpiece in the making so don't cut some slack when doing your work. And that goes the same for all of you, understand?"

Simultaneous replies fill the room and do their work with more vigor, well, maybe except for me.

🎨 🎨 🎨

When the class is over, Maize and I have decided to grab some coffee and relax,

"Remy, wait!"

I turn to see Uriel running towards us.

"Hi. What is it?" I ask, mentally patting myself on the back because I don't feel that much shyness anymore when meeting his eyes.

It's the least I can do after he had stepped out to help me earlier.

"Remember the contest? I'm planning to submit today and I might need your help."

My brows scrunch together. "Really? What is it?"

"Oh about that... Uh..." He struggles to say as his eyes shift between me and Maize.

"OMG! I just remembered I have to return the book I borrowed from the library. I got to leave first, see you in the dorm, Remy!" And just like that my so-called friend dashes off.

Uriel chuckles beside me. "Maybe I am too obvious? I actually want us to be alone for a while."

The shyness that I thought had left comes crashing down as scarlet splashes through my face from his words. It's so easy to misunderstand him when he's like this.

"Uh, why?"

"I've heard what happened earlier. I also asked Gray for the full story. I don't really bother with the school forum and I didn't know it blew that much. I thought, I was trying to help but you ended up in a muddy situation," he explains with guilt morphing on his face.

"It's okay. I'm sure it'll be over now and I'll let Dad know. Even if he did use his connection, I'm sure your talent is worth it," I say.

"Remy, I didn't come here to seek help. I just feel bad for letting you be in that situation. Say, why don't I owe you and I'll do whatever you want?"

"What? It's no problem, really."

"No, no. I insist." He captures my gaze and flashes his million-dollar smile that makes me weak to my knees. "Please?"

I quickly find myself agreeing.

🎨 🎨 🎨

After we have brought coffee, we proceed to his art studio since it is true that he has to submit his entry today.

"It's more beautiful in actual!" I squeal the moment he uncovers the painting.

He scratches his nape as his mouth tilts. "Thanks."

Shades of colors burst from the broken glass he used to depict childhood memories. The solid black outline of the butterfly gave more attention to the object of his painting from all the arrays of regular shapes that scatters all around, sticking to his preferred art style.

And, the more I look, I realize there is a certain pattern with how the glass is shattered which creates some movement in his drawing. Such a combination triggers a bittersweet mood from all the erratic imagery using vibrant hues.

"I'm really betting you can win!" I say as I turn in his direction.

Uriel is packing some books, and he glances at me with a small laugh. "You're so sure when we haven't even seen other's entries yet."

"No, trust me!"

'Well, hopefully, Terrence won't join this time.' It's too optimistic for me to think that. I trust Uriel's abilities but prodigies are a league on their own, specifically that guy. Defeat is not a word in his dictionary.

"Okay, okay. I trust you. Let me just wrap this up and we can go to the contest committee."

"I'll help you," I say, too excited for everyone to see his entry.

"That'll be cool, thanks."

I grab a roll of silicone release paper while he places the canvass on the study table.

As we wrap up the painting, my eyes drift to the papers piling on the side. Numerous are sprawled on that page and just trying to decipher them is making me a headache.

I'm really in awe of how he manages to have a double major.

"What time is your class, by the way? We might take several minutes if we submit it. They'll probably ask questions about your work."

"It's okay. I'll catch a ride with Fleur later since she's going to the university too."

My smile freezes at his words. "Oh, really? Are you dating?"

'Crap.' I regret those words immediately when they left my mouth. Why can't I have a filter on important times?

I force a laugh, trying to escape this moment. "I mean, I'm just curious. You're pretty close."

"Kind of but not in a romantic way if that's what you're thinking—"

"Definitely not!" Blood rushes to my cheeks, badly wanting to die on that spot.

He chuckles before his expression becomes grim. "My dad has been working as their family driver ever since. I'm also under their scholarship and that's why Fleur's going with me. Because I suddenly took a double major, my scholarship at that university is affected and Fleur's going with me to hasten the papers."

"Oh..." I mumble as I think about what to say next. "I remember you mentioned that. Does it mean you have to maintain your grades in all subjects?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Don't you feel pressured? You have day classes and also have night courses to do, how can you manage all that?" I can't help but ask.

His fingers pause as he looks at me with a slight tilt of his head. "It's tiring but I'm satisfied. It's a different feeling to pursue what you love than be stuck in a monotonous cycle of just doing things because you have to." Contentment flashes in those hazel irises when he spoke, making it apparent how he truly loves painting.

"Have you liked painting ever since?" I probe further.

"I guess." He shrugs and resumes wrapping up his work. "In my childhood days, we live in a small studio and both Mom and Dad loves to paint. The smell of it lingers on me every day and I'm glad to have this chance to live my parent's dream."

"That's nice. Have you shown them this? I'm sure they'll be amazed as I am."

The shine on his eyes instantly dims. "I can't."

"Why—"

"They're dead."

"Oh."

Dang. Another landmine. 'Good job, self.'

"I-I-I'm sorry to hear that." I struggle to reply because of how the mood sours in a blink of an eye.

He gives a glance with a tight smile. "It's alright."

"Then, are you staying with your relatives?" I prod, worry embedding on my face. He always looks so carefree and I won't have guessed his parents are gone if he hasn't mentioned it. 

"My parents are orphans and I'm an only child," he says.

Oh dang. I quickly stop myself from gaping yet words already left my mouth from all the surprise. "Then who supports you?"

I remember we drop him off at the hospital the first day we met.

"I have my dad's friend who takes care of me ever since. Mr. Mosheyev also helps financially but I can't depend solely on them. I do have part-time jobs for some extra cash."

"You even have part-time jobs?"

He beams with pride as the emotions sparkle in his eyes. "Yeah. You know, one time..."

As he tells me more about his experiences, I'm gradually gaping in awe. I can't believe he's so tenacious in his dreams despite all the setbacks and here I am, going down with just a minor obstacle I placed on myself.

If only I can get rid of all these insecurities, maybe I'll learn more to appreciate what I have now.