The Things We Love and Lose

Chapter 1

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Samyutha voiced out her doubts in the biting cold of the winter. Circling my body with my arms, I peered at the canvases adorning the side pavement of the road.

I had worked day and night for this, splashed thousands of paints on my clothes, forgot about everything other than the task assigned to me or rather something I tracked out of.

Painters have no life.

That's what you want? A struggle so hard for just some art?

"It is," I said stubbornly, gripped one of the canvas. "This art needs attention and I will do everything for it." Placing the canvas at the side, I grabbed my hair and twisted them in a bun held up by a paintbrush.

Samyutha assessed her eyes on my body from top to bottom, and at last, a disappointing look resided. Tusking, she picked at my top. "Wear something with no paint."

"I don't own anything without paint," I grinned, the voices from the passing vehicles heckled our talks, the morning breath of Delhi seeping into my body and I breathed heavily. New day, new work. "How does it look?" I waved my hand to the art. My sister eyes got stuck for a while, but her constant glance towards the road leading to Oberoi Hotel annoyed me further.

"Mr. Oberoi—"

"—can go to hell," I completed her sentence. "Dadda works there. No problem will come."

"As a cleaner," She hissed. "Sanju—"

"I don't care. This hotel is holding an art exhibition and I need people to see mine as well. I even tried enrolling but they don't do art exhibition of unknown people." I swallowed the bitter refusal down my throat and the amount of money they had asked. "Who can ignore such art?"

"The owner of the hotels," She said, scared of the outcome.

Rolling my eyes, I stood beside the boards. The cars whoosed side by side, some stopped to glance at it, some whispered about it, and some approached in confusion on why I was standing near the hotel. In my twisted words, I was rebelling against the owner for denying me the position to show something I had worked from day to night.

The winter dimmed as the day went by, the hopes risen despite the constant glances from my sister of the fact I could cost our father his job. He would understand it. He would see things from my side.

But all my hopes were shattered when I found a man in three pieces standing at the end of the pavement. His arms were crossed against his chest, his eyes were hard, his face void of any expression. I cocked my head at the side, curious who was it and thought of someone interested in my art. I opened my mouth to explain but something was thumped my palm. Curiously, I stared at the note.

What?

"Sir has requested you to leave."

"What?"

"You're trespassing the property," He explained, calm leaving his face. "He has kindly re—"

"I get at the first time," I snapped, crossing my arms against the chest and lifted my chin in defiance of his attitude. Firstly, his boss rejected my proposal with the flick of his fingers without daring to see who was standing in front of him. Secondly, my dad worked here, and I could do it because I desired it. "Tell your boss I can offer him some sponsorship."

He smiled tightly, the wind wiping his hair to the side. Ignoring his grim look, I stared down at my paintings, at the world hidden behind them. Day and night I had work on it, shut myself out to the world, heard stuff from my parents on when would I get out and do something good of the degree I had achieved.