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Hello, everyone! This is my first story on this platform. While I usually prefer not to write short stories, this idea has been stuck in my mind for a few days, and I wrote it in a hurry. In this story, you may find hints or reasonable answers t...
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Sitting at her study desk on a quiet Friday morning, Aurelia let her pencil glide across the page. The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through dark clouds, casting a soft warmth over the city. The scent of earthy mist rose, filling the air, as a small ray of light tapped gently against her window, as if politely begging her to let it in.
A large nose...a broad forehead...small, close-set eyes...thin lips...a small chin...and a pair of oversized spectacles. She studied the sketch, frowning as her gaze flickered between the page and the mirror before her. "The eyes are the hardest to draw," she muttered, erasing the left eye once more. The paper tore slightly where her eraser had worked too hard, but she barely noticed.
She was, after all, a good artist.
Aurelia's gaze drifted, once again, between her reflection and the sketch she had been painstakingly working on. Minutes blurred by in her effort to capture something beautiful, something that could prove to her classmates-and maybe even to herself-that she wasn't as they saw her.
Her mother's voice interrupted the stillness. "Aurelia, come down and have some fruit," she called gently. The world outside felt too bright, too cheerful, and Aurelia stayed where she was, her pencil poised over the same, stubborn paper. The fruit, she thought, could wait.
But school was a different story. The next morning, she stood outside a circle of classmates, clutching her sketchbook to her chest as they looked over her work. Her heart raced as their eyes traced the details she'd stayed up late perfecting. She braced herself, hoping for the smallest nod, maybe a word of encouragement.
A few students said, "It's nice," glancing at each other with raised brows, some laughed. She felt a flicker of hope in her heart and a pang of guilt settling at the bottom of it.
And later, she overheard those 'few nice' students whispering and, mimicking the lines she had drawn, turning every carefully placed stroke into a punchline. There was laughter-fade, unfiltered, echoing through her mind like stones tossed into still water.
"She really thinks that looks good?" one whispered.
"It was creepy!" another laughed.
She tried to ignore the sting in her chest, the way their words left shadows across the portrait she'd tried so hard to create. When she looked at it later in the quiet of the library, those shadows had grown darker, twisting the face she'd drawn into something unrecognizable. The soft beauty she had wanted to capture felt lost.
