expired milk | 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨.𝐥

Burn so fast, it scares me

As the time passed by, students began gathering their bags and books, heading to some place that was not the school they had been stuck in for more than eight hours.

The sun that had disrupted the drunken girl early in the morning had now casted a golden shadow over the school, many students began packing up their belongings on the note that once that final bell rings, school would be over until the next morrow and many students chose to not let the sunlight go to waste, quickening their steps and exiting the building to go on their daily lives.

[Y/N] began walking to her locker that was adjacent to her homeroom, her eyes drifting below to the ground as she watched her shadow pass her by. It seemed that many things passed the girl by in life. (How she wished to seize every moment like her fellow peers, to live without constant shame and disgust plaguing her mind.

But one thing was for certain when it came to the certain [h/c] girl, a smile still graced her visage, her facade. Was she an actor, or a fool who wished to be the very thing she emulates?)

The girl knew she could not complain sadly, though she wished to reach out, she had put herself in such a dilemma. What made it so difficult to open up, surely not everyone would be like her mother, who always wanted the girl to do something meaningful and useful with her life, to either become one of the big three-, a doctor, an engineer, or an attorney.

(But there was meaning in what [Y/N] liked, she found meaning in the art that covered the world. Meaning in how-, regardless of what time the world had been in, art still was maintained. Art was integral, art was beautiful, art was meaningful. How could her mother not see? How every miscellaneous item that resided in the Mizaistom residence had history and purpose. Without art, life would be devoid of beauty, creativity, and meaning.)

The girl snapped out of her rant when something, or rather someone, called out to her. The [h/c] girl swiveled her head to the noise, she had reached her destination but failed to notice until the voice called out to her.

She turned to see her homeroom teacher, Mr. Wing, a man with noirette black hair and glasses that suited his heart shaped face. (His hair, though shiny did not look greasy, which greatly reminded [Y/N] of something, she had felt a sense of deja-vu when she looked upon her teacher's hair, something about it reminded her of a headband wearer she met early on the same day. Were they perhaps related, she thought to herself. And what shampoo do they use?)

"Ah, I am very glad to catch you before you start heading out [Y/N]." He had sighed in relief, his shirt reverted back to its usual state-, being untucked.

"Do you need something Mr. Wing? And FYI, you're shirt's untucked." She pointed a finger to his abdomen, to where the shirt had unfurled.

"Oh goodness! Again!? Jeez, they should make something where your shirt remains in its position."

"They do Mr. Wing. ... It's called a belt." She said with a nervous smile and awkward silence remained between the two for a long few seconds.

(Was her teacher becoming more senile as the days went by? [Y/N] wondered if that is what would happen to those who wish to become teachers, the girl noted that she would definitely not choose to be a teacher, regardless of how life would handle her.)

Clearing his throat to ward off the uncomfortable silence that loomed over the two, he began to speak, revealing why he had called for her, "{Y/N], I would like to think that I have a good understanding of your character," ... oh how wrong could the teacher be, "and I've known that you have a talent with the arts. ... Anyway, what I am trying to say is that there is a gallery opening for new and upcoming artists and it is a very big deal. Many talented artists and our very own Zodiac congress will be there. I wish to recommend you, make a piece and show the world a side of you that they have never seen before."