CanVas Of Love

chapter 4: Sighs and creative confections

Exiting  the school doors, the weight of the day clung to me like a heavy cloak. Emma and I said our goodbyes and I unhooked my bike from the rack.

Cursing under my breath I noticed the time was already quarter after three and I had promised mom that i'll stop by the shop to help her out.

Before leaving the school grounds I noticed Su-ho being escorted through the doors of a sleek black Rolls royce. The windows seemed to be tinted heavily so I couldn't make out  exactly who  was in the car awaiting him.

Students who were still lingering at the front of the school once again began indiscreetly gawking and whispering about who exactly Kang Su-Ho is.

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The memory of my art teacher's words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the praise she had heaped upon him. The ache of disappointment and insecurity gnawed at my heart as I made my way to my mothers bakery.

Entering the warm, inviting space, the aroma of freshly baked treats enveloped me, momentarily distracting me from my troubled thoughts.

My mother, adorned in a flour-dusted apron, her curly puff tied up in a messy bun greeted me with a grateful smile. The sight of my mother happily placing the baked goods in their designated area behind the glass counter calmed my racing mind, reminding me of the unwavering support and love she always provided.

Grabbing the spare apron, I made sure I washed my hands before helping my mother prepare the dough for the day's special pastries. I found solace in the rhythmic kneading and the familiar routine.  But beneath the surface, the frustration and sadness simmered, practically begging for release.

Unable to contain my emotions anymore, I confided in my mother about the events that unfolded at school. Her compassionate gaze met mine, understanding the weight of my words.

With a tender touch, she assured me that my talent and dedication were not diminished by the transfer students' arrival.

"Sweetheart," she began, her voice filled with love, "your art is a unique expression of your soul. It holds a beauty and depth that cannot be replicated by anyone else, no matter what their skill level."

Even though her words comforted me a bit, there was still this unnerving feeling that my art the way it was now just isn't good enough.

Since the accident a year and a half ago occurred  my right hand just hasn't been the same.

Gently twisting my wrist I continued assisting my mother.

As we molded dough, piped creams, and delicately decorated pastries, I allowed myself to be consumed by the creative process. Each swirl of icing and every sprinkle of sugar became an outlet for my emotions.

In the midst of the bakery's bustle, my mothers voice cut through the air, trying to reassure me again.

"Remember Rayne, art comes in many forms. Even though your teacher praised another for me, your artistry shines through the flavors and beauty of our bakery creations.