I PLACED MY NOTEBOOK into my bag as soon as the lecturer gathered his things and walked out of the theatre. I sat back, watching keenly as several students filed out of the lecture theatre without bothering to get up myself. I wasn't leaving the college grounds anytime soon, anyway.

I turned to the white brunette seated next to me; she was also watching the students exit the theatre but her gaze sharply slid to meet mine the moment she noticed that I was staring at her. Siren, her eyes were siren.

"You should go too, Scar," I said to her, "I'm not heading home now."

"Are you going to the art room today too?" She asked me, picking up her notebook from the table and shoving it deep into her purple tote bag.

"Yeah, I'm not done with my painting from yesterday."

"Man," She sighed, "And I really wanted to walk home with someone today."

"I can leave the painting till tomorrow," I offered.

Scarlett itched her eyes, "No, I shouldn't bother you. I'll be fine by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine," she got up from the chair, exposing her hourglass shape to me and the public, "I'll just walk with you to the art room and head to my hostel from there."

"Are you sure?" I asked again, "I can always come back to the painting, you know?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I just need some rest," she grabbed my wrist to pull me up and then stared at me.

"Was your wrist always this small?" She inquired, measuring my wrist with her middle finger and thumb.

I laughed and took my hand out of her grasp, "Let's go, Scar. Almost everyone has left here."

I adjusted the strap of my black bag which hung on my left shoulder and walked out of the lecture theatre with Scarlett. Since we were already in the faculty of art building, we didn't need to walk so far to get to the art room. So, we casually strolled down the hallway, watching as different people with different personalities interacted with themselves. Even with my poor eyesight— but with a little help from my glasses— I was able to see Thomas some metres away, chatting with a few of his friends.

I looked away. I shouldn't bother him.

We both had our lives to live and what really mattered was that we always came back to each other at the end of the day. So, I should not go running after him like an obsessed girlfriend.

"Have you gotten your dress yet?" I turned to Scarlett.

"Yeah, Halsey called blush-pink as the colour code for the bridesmaids, so we got blush-pink silk dresses with slits. It's so pretty," she replied, swinging her bag as she happily skipped beside me.

Anyone who saw Scarlett right now would surely think of her as a sweet little girl but please do not be fooled. Don't say I didn't warn you.

"Lucky you," I said, tucking one of the curls resting on my forehead behind my ear, "Anna and I stayed up all night, brainstorming on what to wear and we still didn't arrive at anything."

"You two better arrive at something real quick because the wedding's this Saturday and last-minute dresses are most definitely not allowed."

"Alright," I softly laughed, "We'll put that into consideration."

"Don't laugh, Wendy. I'm dead serious here," Scarlett stated with a straight face, accompanied by the jabbing gaze of her brown eyes, "As the only sibling of the groom, I have to stand out. And if I have to stand out, you two have to stand out also."

"You can trust Anna on that one," I muttered.

Her fashion sense was to die for.

"And I can trust you too?" Scarlett asked me in a tone that was right next to a pressuring one.

"I won't advise you to put your trust in me but I'll try my best to meet your expectations."

She shot me a side glare.

"Okay, I'll tell Anna to pick my clothes and you'll review them before that day," I quickly changed my words, "Is that alright by you?"

She stared forward again as we walked further down the hallway, "Yeah, I guess. Make sure to send me a photo of the dress before Friday."

"You're not coming over to my house to check it out properly?" I asked.

"I wish I could but I've got the wedding preparation stuff going on. I have to be there while they're setting the decorations as I'm a soon-to-be FaShIoN dEsIgNeR," she said sarcastically, "Obviously, my mom doesn't know the difference between a fashion designer and an interior designer."

"At least, she got the designer part," I said, softly laughing as we stopped just in front of the art room door, "So, see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, if I'm not too exhausted," Scarlett said, "And just in case I don't show up, please take notes for me."

"Of course."

"Bye," She waved at me while she walked off.

Watching her till she was out of sight, I turned around and walked into the art room. I shut the door behind me and strolled down to the opposite side of the room where the windows were.

I wondered when Samantha would get married. She was twenty-three and hadn't even had a boyfriend ever since that incident in high school.

I exhaled, taking a sit on my usual stool. My painting was right in front of me on an average-sized canvas that rested on a wooden easel— It was a painting of an orange rose. I had no idea how I ended up painting that, nor how I even had the inspiration to do so. As far as I was concerned, nothing in my life sparked a reason for me to paint an orange rose.

I picked up my white apron and fastened it on, then brought out the tools I needed to paint with from my locker. Luckily, there was not one single soul with me in the art room— not even Mrs. Taylor who was in charge of the art room and sometimes visited to take a look at our paintings.

The emptiness of the class, the subtle footsteps of people outside walking past the art room, the blowing sound of the cooling air conditioning and the yellow hue from the sun rays which pierced through the windows. They all fused, passing tranquillity into my veins as I stared at my painting. Only one thing could make this moment even better.

I brought out my phone and played some relaxing music, starting with one by Nathan Eiser. As his song softly oozed from my phone's speaker and reverbed around the art room, I could not help but smile.

I came across Nathan Eiser when he released his very first song years ago. Back then, I was just in 8th grade while he was already eighteen. That didn't mean a thing to me, since I had already fallen in love with him and his music style. He was the kind of musician to switch from rhythm and blues to pop without making it sound a bit weird. That was how good he was at what he did, and that was why I was always the first to hit his songs the second he released them.

I was a very loyal fan, seeing as I had stuck with him since then till my third year of college. And now, as a reward for my loyalty, I finally get to see him in person!

As I happily picked up my brush to dip it into a bowl of water, the music suddenly paused and my phone's ringtone rang out instead.

I groaned. Who the fuck is it?

I dropped the palette in my hand and picked up my phone, glaring at the screen.

Oh.

"Hello, Mom," I numbly said as I picked up the call and placed it on loudspeaker.

I dropped my phone on the stool to my left and picked up my palette again, dipping the tip of my damp brush into some black paint.

"Hi, baby. It's been a while," my mom replied from the receiver end of the line.

A very long while.

"Yes, Mom," I said, adding strokes of faint black paint to the droplets of water I painted on the orange rose to make it look a little realistic.

"I've missed you," she spoke in a piteous voice, "I've missed you so much."

Such honeyed words. If she did miss me, then she would have dumped the old dude she was with and come back home to me and the rest of our little family.

"I've missed your sister too, even though she hates my guts," she mumbled the last few words under her breath.

I dipped my brush into a bowl of water and tapped it on the towel that I laid on the stool beside me.

"You just quarrelled with her, didn't you?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

My mother sighed, "I only asked her when she'd come home to visit me but she started ranting again about how Ricardo keeps flirting with her. He's technically related to you two now, so why would he ever flirt with his sister—"

"Step," I cut in, "It's step-sister, Mom."

"Oh, it matters!" She sarcastically exclaimed, "The point is, I don't believe Ricardo can do that sort of thing. Samantha just doesn't want to see me."

"What if she isn't lying, though?" I questioned, adding some white paint to my pallet, "What if Ricardo actually hits on her whenever she visits you?"

"W-Well," she paused for a while, "I don't know but Richardo's not that type of kid. I'm sure of that."

I softly exhaled, "Whatever you say, mom."

"So, how's college?" She asked with the tone of her voice becoming more vibrant, "I hope you're doing alright over there."

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

My voice could not have been more monotonous than it was.

"Ensure to study your books and eat well, okay?" She said, "If your father ever fails to send you some money, please do tell me. I'm working this hard for you to be alright, so don't hesitate to tell me if you need something, okay?"

"Sure, mom."

I'd never ask for her dirty money, even if it cost me my life. Taking money from her was equivalent to taking money from some old man who hated my guts. I'd rather work.

"I'm kind of busy right now, so let's talk later," I added, picking up my phone with a paint-stained hand.

"Oh," the tone of her voice drooped, "Okay baby. Bye now."

"Bye."

I dropped the call and placed my phone back on the desk as the song I was initially listening to resumed playing. I picked up the formerly brown paintbrush that was now smeared with white paint and highlighted each of the water droplets.

Hearing the art room door softly creak, I looked up from my painting at once to check if anyone was coming in. There was no one, that was good.

It was so much better when nobody was around. I didn't feel lonely in times like this, rather I loved the serenity of being alone and how I didn't have to put up a show for anyone. It was fun being my own crowd.

I dipped the brush into the bowl of water and dabbed it dry on the towel before diving the tip of the brush into some white paint again. I had forgotten to highlight the flower itself.

I lightly swung the brush on the petals of the flower, humming along to Nathan's song. My rose flower had started to have a little bit of realism peeking from inside it, causing a smile to slowly take over my lips.

My gosh, I loved painting!

"BOO!" Someone suddenly yelled in my ear.

———————————————
Tip: Wendy is the last child of two girls.