While other departments have already prepared for the school break, our class has been engulfed with tension.

It's the last day of the semester yet here we are waiting for judgment like we're under a crime.

I don't even know if it is me shaking with sweat dripping on my palm or if is it Maize who's holding onto me.

Despite her happy-go-lucky attitude all this time in our painting class, the suspense of the results is taking a toll on every single one of us.

Our works have already been displayed in the gallery at the Delacroix Hall. I do not even bother going there first thing in the morning — too afraid to let my mood down.

When a person enters the room along with Professor Lind with red glassy eyes, my back straightens as I anticipate who will be called next.

"Maize Campbell," she calls.

"Good luck," I whisper while she struggles to get up from her chair.

They both go out while more silence fills the room. Well, not really. Ignoring the sniffing sounds since earlier, everyone has practically become mute.

A loud squeal resonates and it takes several more minutes before Maize returns.

"How is it?"

"I got a C. Prof said I still have to improve but so what, I pass! My mom won't have to break my bones."

"That's good."

Hopefully, I can have the same grade too. As long as it's a passing grade, I don't care. I already have done my best. If it's still not enough, do I have a choice? I'll just do better next time.

A few more students has follows until my name has been called.

Standing up, my legs are almost shaking.

"Good luck, Remy," Maize says. "You can do it."

"Thanks."

I exit the room but someone stretches their leg in front. Looking sideways, it is Terrence. He mouthed good luck too.

Nodding, I try to muster a smile. I have already shown my submission to him and it is Terrence-approved. If nothing goes wrong, I can guarantee at least a C.

Professor Lind sits down. She has set up a mini-office with a table on both sides in the hallways.

The sparse number of students is enough to make it private. I'm glad she's taken this into consideration because I can never imagine having the spotlight while my grade is discussed.

"Have a seat, Miss Evans. How are you?"

"I—I'm good, Professor," I reply despite the fact that it's apparent I'm not.

She hands a piece of paper. It is a photograph o my painting but my eyes are glued to the upper corner.

The red mark makes my whole body shudder. The capital letter is like a dream. I blink countless times but it is still the same.

"I got an... A?" My questioning gaze falls on Professor Lind.

"Don't you want it?"

"But why... I..."

"I like your interpretation, Miss Evans. Even without the explanation, I can see the idea behind it. You have the greatest improvement among my students and your dedication will not go undiscerned. You sure live up to your name. Keep it up, Ms. Evans. Let's go back."

I don't know how I am able to return my seat. Maize is talking to me but I have turned deaf as my mind cannot get over what Professor Lind has said.

They say seeking acceptance from others is futile and should be discouraged but when I know I have not dragged my family's name in the mud, I'll gladly accept it.

But the doubt if I deserve it is still there. Yet this time, I gather my courage. I have done everything and my work is worth that grade.

It's like swallowing a pill that is so sweet that you might get sick rather than heal.

Something too unbelievable to be real.

Eventually, everyone is done and Professor Lind goes back inside with a stack of paper.

"I appreciate the work of everyone but don't ever forget the art world can be as cruel as any field. However, that does not mean you have to constrain yourself in a tiny box of your comfort zone."

She takes a moment and roams her gaze on us.

"What is creativity to you? Why did you pursue art? Do you even know what art is? I have emphasized right from the beginning that you should express yourself. A work that lacks soul is as plain as blank canvass splashed with random colors."

Her heels tap as she walks around us.

"The topic I gave sounds the easiest but for certain, it may be the hardest. Love is broad and the countless masterpieces just from the word alone are limitless. It can inspire a lot of ingenious creations but it's too common that it is difficult to do something unique to it. In the end, it boils down to the concept, the story that you want to portray through your art. You see here, there are imperfections in your work but painting should be, first and foremost, about creativity. You have your theory and design class for all that technicalities. In the end, the majority of you forgot that this class is painting. Technicalities are only second or perhaps not even considered. This is your only class to express without limitations but unfortunately, most of you failed to see that. Now that the semester has ended, I congratulate everyone and hope for the best for those who did not. See you on your exhibits, students."

After her speech, Professor Lind leaves the room but no one moves. It takes a couple more minutes before someone exits the room.

🎨 🎨 🎨

Heading to Delacroix Hall, Maize separates ways to go back to the dorm. She had been planning to get home since the morning.

"Take care, Remybear, and enjoy your break!" She glances behind me, obviously looking at Terrence. "Don't mess up with her or you'll mess up with me. Even if you're handsome, I won't back down!"

I just laugh at her threat and see her off before proceeding to the hall.

There are even fewer students here and most of them are our classmates.

The moment I enter, a painting quickly grasps my attention. The overly saturated colors surround and there is an empty white void forming a couple embracing together. The silhouette is outlined by vines as if protecting them in a cocoon.

The use of shapes in different shades of colors creates juxtaposition. There is no symmetry but the right balance has been achieved with just a few strokes and making a variety of shapes.

The emphasis on the void simply attracts the gaze of anyone as it takes a large portion of the painting. Thinking about it, it can be seen that the couple is safely tucked into their world. Or maybe it is more like them against the world.

No wonder, Professor Lind put this right at the entrance. It truly deserves the spot.

Looking down, the printed letters of Terrence's name are there.

'Should I be even shocked?' Nonetheless, the usual irk from his works has not appeared. Instead, I am in genuine awe.

I have not seen his submitted work all this time and it comes as a marvel.

"Why is this called 'Everlasting'?"

He hummed, eyeing me with those abyss eyes that somehow showed a glint of spark. "Let me ask you instead. Have you ever felt trapped? But you're willing? I want to reflect on that concept. Vines can easily be untangled but the couple retains their embrace, not wanting to let go nor be set free. I think that is 'love' to me. Despite the countless problems, if one refuses to let go, no one can break free from fragile vines."

"That's a beautiful idea. I never know you can be the cheesy type."

"Aren't I with you?" he retorts and I slap his shoulder.

"Shut up!" However, a faint stain of pink already comes across my cheeks.

I head over, leaving him alone, though he's already beside me. We wander once more and paused on those that interest us.

We have seen Maize and just beside her is Uriel's project. He already has a signature art style that I don't even have to look at the name that the work is his.

Placed together with Maize's flamboyant interpretation of love, the monochromatic and sharp lines provide a comparison of the art pieces right away.

It is almost abstract from a distance but the thick lines create more dimension to the painting, There are heart shapes and random lines until it forms a person. It is as if the thickness of the lines is like blood flowing from the person and the heart shapes. The sense of helplessness to endure the pain resonates within me. It's as if those shards are so precious that the person still holds onto them despite the wound scarring their body.

"This is good," Terrence commends. "He always manages to make something curved to rigid but somehow maintains the softness of the original shapes."

"True. Uriel's talent is a diamond in the rubble. I'm sure he will only do better in the future."

"I agree—"

"Remy."

Just from the voice, I don't need to turn back to know who it is.

It's always like this. Just when you talk about a certain person, they always magically appear.

I turn around, acknowledging his presence.

"Can we have a moment?" Uriel asks.

Before I can refuse, he continues. "Please?"

Glimpsing at Terrence, his expression has become stagnant but noticing my gaze, the corner of his lips tilt.

"I'll wait here.'

"Okay." I turn back to Uriel. "Let's go?"

We go to the farthest corner of the hall. I sit on the bench and he sits beside me. Just enough space between us in a position that we're not required to meet eye to eye.

"I'm sorry about that night, Remy. I didn't mean to reject you. It's just that my dad has been sent to the hospital."

"I heard about it. Is he okay now?"

"Yeah, hopefully. I hope I didn't hurt you—"

"Now that's wishful thinking," I retort. "I mean, I understand. Our family should always be our priority. I can understand but please don't expect me to be not hurt. I have feelings too, you know?"

"Sorry."

"And stop that. You're making me guiltier."

He chuckles but is almost lifeless.

"Then..." He grabs my hand, making me instantly look at him. "Am I too late if I say I like you too?"

My lids have widened to circles that are almost as big as the spotlights here. 'Did I hear wrong?'

"What?"

A self-defeating smile stretches on his lips. "You heard it, Remy. I like you. Even before you know me, I've been admiring you from afar. Your works save me. The light of hope is always present in your painting. I always thought you'll just be a farfetched dream and never expected I can meet you in person."

He pauses, inhaling, but it takes him a long time before he resumes.

"That night, I really thought about how it is unfair. You're already in my reach but I have to let go. I can't afford for you to wait without having a clear plan. You're so high there that if not for the opportunity from your father, I doubt you will ever notice me."

His voice cracks countless times but he continues nonetheless while I am there trying to absorb his words.

All this time, all I can see is my flaws and never thought that maybe somehow, someone really likes me and held me in high regard. But the sense of acceptance I have been searching for has already been given by Terrence all along after knowing he is the hooded guy.

"Uriel, do you think our timing is wrong?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. All I can think is what if I stayed there that night."

"No, Uriel. You made the right decision. If I am in your place, I will do the same."

"But if I accepted your confession earlier, do you think everything will be different?"

"It will be. Definitely. Maybe you'll help me get over my issues with Terrence or maybe I'll still like end up liking him."

"So you do like him now huh? Isn't it too fast?"

"That's why I'm questioning too but I discovered something. Terrence is like a shadow that's been trailing over me for years. Shadows can disappear when there is darkness but it is still there connected in our body. But you know what, if you failed to do what you have done for your dad, no kind of love can wash away your regret for that."

In the dimness of the hall, no words have been exchanged again.

No one budges between me and Uriel. But when he finally stands up, I follow his figure leaving without saying anything.

I heave a sigh. I never know it can be this difficult. How I wish love can be so simple as painting about it.

As I tread my way back, Terrence is still there. He quickly spots me approaching him.

"Have you talked?"

I hum my answer.

"Should I expect to be rejected?"

When those words leave his mouth, I have no plans to reply. Instead, I drag him to my painting.

"What's your impression of it?" I ask, my lips curling as his face changes to earnest while looking at my work. He always manages to switch off his arrogant side when it comes to artwork.

My subject is a woman in a light blue dress, holding the same colored umbrella. The color palette is almost the same as the clear skies, making her morph in the background.

But instead of the umbrella sheltering it from the rain, the rain comes from the umbrella. Clouds hover under it with hues of indigos reigning at the top to create a sense of gloominess.

Regardless, the warmth of the hole in the woman's body produces a pleasant atmosphere. The fire is shaped like a heart holding on to it like a treasure while tucking the umbrella on her armpit. As for her the other hand, it reaches out to the clear skies, almost testing as if there will be no drops of rain beyond the circumference of the umbrella.

"So what do you think?"

"Is it something about learning to appreciate what's inside us?" he answers.

"Kind of. It's almost similar to yours but not entirely. As the Professor said, love encompasses everything. It is a broad and vague subject that interprets into anything we want. For me, love is an illusion that we trapped ourselves in to the point that we forget our realities. The umbrella symbolizes love. It is the illusion we crave but just like any illusion, it'll disappear and what will remain is the reality thus the clear skies in the background."

I take a deep breath as I unravel myself. He mentions he only says his weaknesses to me and that goes the same for me. Before the misunderstanding, we are each other's shoulder to lean on.

"But what if the illusion we thought is actually our reality? Having clear skies is too perfect to be true. Clouds may cover the skies but they may disappear, just like how the rain the umbrella will gradually stop. In fact, a little rain will not hurt but can help nurture."

He nods, dully listening as I continue explaining.

"If there is one thing I realized when I was doing this, it's the fact that after all this time, I like painting. I thought I only did this because I was pressured. I want to escape my reality so bad but I was too naïve to trade a real thing to a mere illusion. Maybe I got too caught up in the prospects of what-ifs because I've only known painting my whole life. I thought I was chasing reality when in fact, it was an illusion and I already have my reality."

I point out the ember inside the gaping hole in the woman's body.

"All my loved ones are already there... And that includes you."

A rare astonishment flash on his face as I hold his hand.

"You made me recognize the illusion that I was chasing. When we made up, I thought about the past a lot. My family made me love art but they also made me hate it. I thought I disliked doing it. It's like I don't have a choice but to like art. But now? I really fell in love with it. The smell of paint, the sound of the brush against the paper. Even your nagging critiques. All of it. I realize how much I love painting and I like you, Terrence."

The smile on my face broadened while he remained still. But when he finally recovers, his lips stretch from ear to ear and our fingers entwine.

Not only have I found myself, but the person who has been lost finally returned to my side.

There are no more illusions. This time, only our reality will ensue.

*** T H E E N D ***