'Act like a stranger. Act like a stranger. Act like a stranger.'

Taking a deep breath, I force the ends of my mouth to resemble a smile as I look up. "Hello."

He offers his hand. "Hi, I'm Terrence Kristoffer Wright but I'm sure you already know me."

My expression quickly sours but completely darkens when he mutters his next words.

"And you are?"

He already called me 'buddy' but he still asks like he has no idea. This annoying personality who sees himself as high as mighty has never changed.

'At least I'm not the only one who's into this charade.' Or maybe I'm too assuming?

Frankly, he's the person at the top so why will he even remember me after all these years? As if a common girl he has met during childhood is someone worth recalling. It's solely me who still feels salty about the past.

"Remy Evans," I reply and simply watch how he pulls back his hand to his pocket.

"Remy... Nice name."

I nearly sneer. He's basically complimenting himself. After all, he is the one who made the nickname when I am at the peak of my fussiness. In the past, I even refuse to be called 'Rem' because it has been too masculine for me.

"Want to grab some coffee?" he prompts.

"No, thank you," I refuse within a heartbeat.

As much as I love coffee, I'd rather not stay with this person for long.

"Then do you have a suggestion? I'd like to discuss what will be our upcoming plans for the—"

"Actually, it's okay. Let's talk about this next time?"

"You sure? I have my own drawing studio at the Atelier. I'm planning to lead you there so you can use it if you like during our classes."

'Show-off.' I grumble inside. Of course, he has his 'own' drawing studio. Unlike other students who have to book and rent a studio in the Experimental and Foundation Building, those people with great talent and personally scouted by the university are given their own studio.

"Thanks but it's okay. I won't disturb you," I decline, nonetheless.

A stagnant pause passes between us. He peers over my shoulder before breaking the silence.

"Just asking, have you read the notice?"

"Huh? What notice?"

"They have new rules this year for the buddy system." He points behind me with a grin on his face that rubs me the wrong way.

I twist and immediately read the very first post on the board. My jaw drops further the more I go over the new rules.

"This is absurd!" My voice modulates to a screech.

Swiveling back to Terrence, he has his arms crossed and looks at me with amusement.

"How can this be? Why do we have to take a picture in every foundation class? I thought we'll only have some projects and that's it? Is Dean Wright crazy?"

Giggles reach my ear after I let those words out. I actually forget that we're still in public. My mouth quickly thins. I can't destroy my image here. If someone recognizes me as an Evans and recalls my lack of manners, it'll affect my family's reputation.

"Actually, let's go get coffee," I say.

This is the lesser of two evils, after all.

🎨 🎨 🎨

I'm a robot. I brainwash myself as I only answer all of Terrence's questions with a word or two. Can I endure this for the upcoming months?

'I have to.' I don't want to get attached again. Thankfully, he questions nothing personal.

"Anything else, Remy?" he prompts once more.

"None."

I take another sip of my drink. I'm sure he's bored with my lack of enthusiasm but he keeps on smiling like an idiot.

He's beaming with unconfounded energy. It must be nice living in a dream world with no problems to worry about.

My phone beeps but it's a notification. There's no still no message from Maize at all. At the same time, Terrence's phone rings too.

I open the notification. I groan silently after learning we have to meet our subject professor today. They say we simply have orientation but there are these kinds of professors who love to suck away their student's happiness.

"Let's go together?" Terrence says.

"No!" That comes more strongly than I expect and a pang of slight guilt follows. "Uh, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." The slight quake on his smile is practically unnoticeable if I am not directly looking at him. "I'll be heading to the art studio anyway to get my bag."

I know I should never say things without thinking but his downcast gaze — which is always rare — leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I'm already uttering the next words.

"I'll go with you."

🎨 🎨 🎨

A sense of regret oozes in my body with every footstep I take but when Terrence opens the door, all of it disappears.

The scent of lemon mixed with oil paint permeates my nose. He heads toward the drawing board on the right but I remain in the doorway.

My gaze is stuck on the glass shelf that shows his stock of painting materials arranged like a rainbow. Knowing that he uses various mediums, the shelf can compete with an art store. In addition, my home studio can never be this neat.

'Perfectionist as ever.'

I scan the room while he is still rummaging in his bag. On the opposite corner stands two easels. A canvas is placed on the one near me while the other is empty. I come closer with curiosity in my mind.

Only one-third is left void while the left and the right side is all black. Pencil lines are drawn in the white space. It's as chaotic as a child's drawing but under his hands, this will definitely become a masterpiece.

'If only I can have an ounce of his talent...'

Rustling sounds growing louder gets me out of my trance. I turn and Terence is emptying his bag.

I can't help but ask, "What are you looking for?"

"My sketchbook."

"Oh. Maybe you forgot it in the dorm?"

"No, I brought it this morning. I even stayed here during lunch. I'm sure it's here," he explains as he opens the drawers.

The agitated hands and knitting brows overlap with a particular memory of an arrogant brat who goes frantic when he lost things. How can someone so organized be scatterbrained at the same time? That's Terrence, alright.

"You can go ahead. The class might start soon," he says.

"How about you?"

"I'll be searching for it. But a favor, though. Can I ask for your number? I need to contact someone in case I miss the class."

"Sure." I open my phone and recite my number.

Just when I finish telling him did it register that I have made another mistake? I have been caught up in the moment and haven't even hesitated. 'Dang, it.'

"I gotta go now," I say, itching to run off to the door.

"Okay—"

I escape without waiting for him to complete his sentence. I step inside the elevator when someone's shouting behind me.

"Remy! Wait!"

Out of instinct, I close the elevator doors. 'How come he's here so fast?'

But, much to my dismay, the girl beside me pushes the open button again right in time. "Look, someone's still coming."

Terrence wipes off the nonexistent sweat on his face and he thanks the girl. She instantly becomes redder than him who runs all the way here.

I almost roll my eyes seeing another worshipper getting caught in his traps. Terrence faces me with his celebrity smile still pasted on his lips.

"Luckily, I found the sketchbook. We'll get right in time for class," he says and I can only nod.

🎨 🎨 🎨

The slight improvement from earlier returns to a full-blown awkwardness once more. It's so difficult to get along with him when it comes so easily during our younger years.

We enter the room with foldable chairs scattered all over the space. Most of them are occupied and my eyes automatically focus on Uriel, who is sitting beside Fleur, talking too happily.

Right then, a waving hand gets my sight away from the scene.

"Remy! Here!"

I do not even bother saying goodbye to him and going to Maize, who looks like she has seen a ghost.

"Hey." I snap my fingers to call her attention as I sit down.

She leans closer to me in an instant, grabbing my hand with an awestruck look. "Wow, girl! Why are you with Terrence?" 

I just know her interrogation will start the moment I wake her from her daze. Regardless, I divert the topic.

"Why did you not call me?"

"I am waiting for your call too. Now, answer me. Why are you with another Mr. Eyecandy?"

"We're partnered," I answer the simplest I can but that does not stop Maize's over-the-top reaction.

"Oh my gosh! Lucky! You should be jumping around—"

I cover her mouth and put my other forefinger right on top of my lips. Maize quickly settles down.

"Stop," I mutter between clenched teeth.

"Fine, fine. Your glare scares me. Anyways, have you heard? We're having Professor Lind for Painting I. They say she's the strictest professor in our department."

"Proffesor Miranda Lind?"

"Yeah. You know her?"

"I heard from my brother and she's Dad's professor too. Just how old is she?"

Maize shrugs. "Don't know. But! She fails a lot of students and they say that if you get an A from her, you'll be famous. She has a very keen eye for talent and all those she gave an A are all top-notch from what I gathered."

"But Leo says it's very difficult to please her and you only have one chance to do so."

"Heard that too."

The buzzing murmurs suddenly cease. The woman's presence demands attention as soon as she arrives.

She walks at a slow pace with a cane in her right hand. The thick-rimmed glasses coated in gold are placed a little lower on her nose bridge. Those silver strands amidst the black hair are like highlights complimenting her low bun.

When those piercing black eyes, encase with well-defined crow's lines, direct at us, it's mostly like all of us forget to breathe.

"Good afternoon. I am Professor Miranda Lind for your Painting I." There is a slight croak in her timbre but her words are crystal clear. "I'm certain you have already known what my subject entails. Everyone can paint but not everyone can make it. It's all in your hands if you can do it or not because, in the world of arts, there are no shortcuts."

She puts her cane aside and takes a seat while skimming over the room.

"In my class, there are merely three grades." She unfolds three of her fingers. "A, the one who has what it takes. C for the students who deserve a chance and F? They say it's a failure and it is. It's your harsh awakening that painting will never be for you."

Gasps of intake fill the room as I bite the inside of my cheeks. A heavy lump is stuck in my throat that is so difficult to swallow, more so to breathe. Countless thoughts invade my head as my hand gradually becomes cold.

"Geez. That's so straightforward. What happened to be constructive?" Maize whispers beside me but I still can't get over the professor's words.

What if I get an F? Will there be really no future for me? What will happen then? What will my parents say? Will I be a disgrace?

"Hey, girl, you're pale. Are you okay?" Maize is holding my hands and it quivers under her steady fingers.

"Um yeah," I manage to reply.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Listen," Professor Lind continues. "You only have one chance to impress me. You, all of you, must create a single art piece and show me your worth." Her gaze travels across the room. "Prove to me why you are here in the first place."

Even Maize starts fidgeting in her seat. If all teachers are like her, I doubt I can survive the growing pressure.

"As fellow artists, we create the most abstract things and transform them into something tangible. Our pieces are not just 'art', it is our bare mind and heart. It reflects what we stand by. It is not what we see but how we want the world to see through our eyes. Express yourself, students. Embrace the creativity within you. Everyone may use a variety of painting mediums but a theme must be followed. With that said, this semester's theme will be..."

She stands up and gets a marker. With each stroke, my anticipation grows. When she closes the cap, big capital letters are written on the whiteboard.

'Love'.

Dang. I don't know what to do.