The Art of Redemption

01 | Kimani

–
KITTY
—

I stared intensely at the canvas in front of me, the oil paint still wet and glistening in the dim light of my studio. I was lost in thought, trying to figure out what was missing from the artwork.

It was a beautiful piece, depicting the city skyline at night, with the tall buildings lit up like beacons against the dark sky.

But, despite all the detail and care I had put into it, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

Time seemed to stretch as I examined the painting from every conceivable angle, my eyes scrutinizing each brush stroke for any hint of imperfection.

This painting held more than just pigments on a canvas; it held pieces of my soul, my emotions carefully woven into each stroke.

The memory of my parents' guidance and support echoed in every color choice and intricate detail. My dad, with his patient mentoring, had shown me the way to translate my thoughts onto the canvas. And my mom, my unwavering cheerleader, had taken me to countless exhibitions and auctions, nurturing my passion.

I recalled the thrill of standing amidst art enthusiasts, the buzz of excitement mingling with the scent of creativity. My heart would race as I witnessed the exchange of emotions through art, each piece a glimpse into the artist's soul. It was in those moments that I knew I was meant to be a part of this world, to share my own stories and emotions with every brush stroke.

A soft knock on the studio door startled me. I turned my head, my heart racing a bit as I recognized the knock.

Mirabella Starling, my best friend since childhood, stood by the door, a playful grin on her face. "Lost in your world again, Kitty?" she chimed, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yeah, you know how it is," I replied with a wry smile.

She sauntered over, her curiosity piqued. "Let me guess, you're trying to figure out the secret ingredient to turn this masterpiece into a Kimani classic?" she teased, her gaze fixed on the canvas.

I nodded, appreciating her ability to read me so effortlessly. "Exactly that," I admitted, feeling a sense of defeat wash over me.

Mirabella's finger traced the outline of one of the distant buildings, her expression thoughtful. "You've poured your heart into this, Kitty. I can tell. But maybe you're overthinking it. Sometimes, the magic is in the imperfections," she mused.

I frowned, caught off guard by her perspective. "But I want it to be perfect, Bella. I want to capture the feeling of being in the city at night, that sense of awe and wonder, you get me?" I confessed.

Mirabella placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "And you will, Kimani. You always do. But remember, even the most dazzling nights have a few stars that twinkle a little brighter than the rest, a wise man once told me that," she said, her gaze meeting mine with a reassuring smile.

With a sigh, I stepped back from the canvas and looked at the painting anew. Maybe she was right. "Thankyou," I said, turning to her with a genuine smile.

She winked and gave my shoulder a playful nudge. "That's what friends are for. Now, let's go eat and let your masterpiece breathe a little. It's going to be amazing, just like you."

Mirabella was more than just a friend; she was a guiding light, a source of inspiration that had woven herself seamlessly into the fabric of my life.

As we left the studio together, I couldn't help but feeling thankful for getting out of my space.

I needed fresh air.

"I've got something delicious waiting for us," she announced with a playful grin as we entered the kitchen.

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. Mirabella was an extraordinary chef, having lived her life with two of the world's renowned chefs. "What did you make today?" I asked.

Once we stepped into our apartment, the smell of food embraced the whole house, not letting any other thing breathe.

Mirabella gestured towards the dining table where an array of dishes awaited. I gasped. "We've got some homemade pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce, a fresh salad, and of course, a little something sweet for dessert," she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

I couldn't help but smile at her thoughtfulness. "You're spoiling me, Bellz," I said, taking a seat at the table. This looked good.

As we indulged in the meal, we talked extensively about other things, then our conversation shifted towards Mirabella's school project. She looked a bit more serious now, her brow slightly furrowed.

"So, tell me about this project of yours," I probed gently, sensing that there was more to the story.

She sighed, pushing her pasta around on her plate. "Well, it's about urban planning and sustainable architecture. I was really excited about it, but things have been getting tough lately," she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration.

My brows furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "It's Professor Boyce. He's been giving me a hard time ever since that incident in class. That time when I challenged his ideas about inclusivity in design," she explained.

I remembered that incident – the way Mirabella fearlessly voiced her opinions, sparking a debate that had ruffled a few feathers. She didn't want to back down.

"That incident was ages ago, Bella. Why is he still holding onto it?" I asked, puzzled.

Mirabella shrugged, a hint of weariness in her eyes. "I don't know, Kimani. It's like he's been making things difficult for me ever since. It's affecting my grades, and I feel like I'm constantly under scrutiny."

"That's unfair," I said, my voice tinged with indignation. "You shouldn't be penalized for expressing your views."

Mirabella gave a small smile, appreciating my support. "I know you're right, but it's been tough, you know? I just want to focus on my passion without feeling like I'm constantly being judged."

As we concluded our meal, I made a silent pledge to uphold the steadfastness Mirabella had extended to me during my artistic challenges. It was my turn to offer unwavering support in her time of need.

The weight of her worries wasn't lost on me, and I was resolved to stand by her side. "We'll find a way, don't give up, okay?" I encouraged her, my words carrying the warmth of assurance.

"Thanks," she responded, her voice holding in fear.

Seeking to lift the heaviness that lingered in the air, I shifted our conversation to a brighter subject. "So, how are you and Mach?" I inquired, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Mirabella's eyes lit up, and a genuine enthusiasm spilled into her words as she began to talk excitedly about her and Mach's recent endeavors.

As she spoke, the cloud of worries that had enveloped her seemed to dissipate, replaced by a contagious optimism.

This was the Mirabella I enjoyed talking to.

"I'm happy for the both of you, sweetheart."

–♡–
drop your comments here ♡