Serenity

6| One Stroke At A Time

Kara's POV

The scent of turpentine and linseed oil filled the air, a pungent aroma that clung to the walls of the art studio. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting dancing shadows on the canvases scattered across the room. I glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings. This was the place where I had spent countless hours honing my craft, lost in the world of colors and textures.

Today, however, I had a different purpose.

I looked at Shane standing beside me, his eyes fixed on the canvas, a blank expression on his face as he surveyed the vast expanse of white. I had managed to convince Shane to come with me to the art studio on campus, a place where we could be alone and undisturbed. It was a risky move, but I had hoped that the public setting would deter us from giving in to our... impulses.

So far, so good.

The only problem was that it had already been almost half an hour, and he hadn't really started painting.

At first, when I'd started painting, he had just watched me, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. After a few moments, he had taken to staring at the blank canvas for what felt like an eternity, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scrutinized the blank canvas before him. Since then, he'd just been switching between looking at me and the empty canvas. He did pick up his paintbrush, dip it in paint, and raise it to the canvas a few times, but his brush never really touched the white space.

Now, the silence stretched out like a taut rope as I dipped my paintbrush into a palette of vibrant hues and watched as the colors swirled and danced, a symphony of hues that seemed to hold a life of their own.

"You're not going to paint?" I couldn't help but ask, breaking the silence that had settled over us.

He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the canvas. "I don't know."

"Come on, Shane," I encouraged, nudging him gently. "You're a great painter. Just start with something."

I knew he was hesitant, his past experiences casting a long shadow over his present. But I was determined to break through his resistance, to coax him back into the world of art that he seemed to have abandoned. I had to really bust my ass to convince him to come with me. Not to mention, I had to wait until our schedules matched and I was free enough to bring him here. I was busy the entire week because I had to make up for everything I missed while I was sick.

"It's okay if you don't want to," I said, trying to sound casual. "I understand."

He looked at me, a flicker of something passing across his face. "No, I want to," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just don't know where to start."

"That's okay," I replied, smiling. "We can start with something simple. Just pick a color and start painting."

He hesitated, his eyes scanning the palette before finally settling on a tube of blue.

As Shane dipped his brush into the paint, I couldn't help but notice how the color seemed to suit him.

It wasn't the cobalt blue of his initial appearance, which had hinted at his reserved and mysterious nature. No, this blue was deeper, richer, with undertones of indigo—a shade that hinted at a deeper, more complex side of his personality.

Indigo, like Shane, was a blend of darkness and light, of mystery and revelation. It was a color that suggested hidden depths, a sense of purpose. He was no longer the reserved, enigmatic figure I had first met. He was a man in the process of change, a man who was slowly letting go of his past and embracing a new beginning. The indigo that surrounded him was a symbol of this transformation, a testament to his growth and evolution. This hue that enveloped him was a color of hope, of possibility. It was a color that whispered of a brighter future, a future filled with promise and potential.

I watched him dip his brush into the paint and carefully apply it to the canvas, a single stroke of color that broke the pristine white. But then he hesitated, his hand hovering over the canvas. "Just keep going," I encouraged, my voice soft. "Don't worry about making mistakes. Just let the paint flow."

He paused for a moment with his eyes fixed on the small blue mark on the canvas. Then he put the brush down.

"I can't do this," he said, his voice filled with frustration.

I frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head. "I just... I can't."

I sighed. I understood how difficult it must be for him to return to painting after such a long absence and to face the blank canvas once again. It must have felt like staring into the abyss of his own insecurities. I could see the fear in his eyes, the doubt that gnawed at him. He was probably afraid of failure, afraid of rejection, afraid of exposing himself to the world.

"It's okay," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "It takes time."

Shane shook his head. "No, it's not okay. I don't think I can ever do it again."

I reached out and took his hand. "Don't say that," I said softly. "You just need some time to adjust."

Shane looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and despair. "I don't know if I can," he said.

"You can," I replied, her voice firm. "We can try again later."

"Maybe."

I could see the pain and disappointment in his eyes, the frustration at his inability to overcome his fears. But I also saw a glimmer of hope, a spark that could grow into a flame of determination.

"Anyway, do you like cats?" I asked, changing the subject.

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just answer."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

I grinned. "Perfect."

*****

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