ᴍᴏɴᴏᴛᴏɴᴇ | ɴɪsʜɪɴᴏʏᴀ ʏ.

[7]

If she were to describe one of her earliest memories as a child, she will say it was "bright-colored."

It was in every sense both metaphorically and literally. She vividly remembered the strokes of the paintbrush, the smell of paint, the white apron that was stained by what seemed like a rainbow had splattered itself over it, and the man who had a permanent contented smile on his face as he painted a meadow full of wild flowers.

He would occasionally look behind his back where she was sitting on her little wooden chair, a single half-eaten strawberry cupcake held in between her small hands. His smile would grow bigger as he would ask her if she was getting bored, to which she would reply with a rapid shake of her head and enthusiastically say "I like watching you paint, Papa!"

The man would then laugh heartily, uttering a "Is that so?" Before going back to his work.

Then she would just sit there, occasionally takes a bite of her snack, and takes in the image of him being bathed by the afternoon sunlight from the studio's open windows. An old cassette player was playing a soft ballad in the background and although most kids around her age would easily grow tired of this setup, she was a different case.

The little girl, then aged six, loved that little space where dozens of paintings were scattered methodically and where she could easily be with one of her favorite people in the whole wide world. She felt like that was her safe place and she loved how bright and colorful it usually was. It becomes even brighter when her mother would come through the door with a tray of tea and even more treats in her hands.

She would put it down on the table near her chair and would proceed to carry the girl to where her husband was painting. "Oh, that's beautiful!" She would exclaim which would make the man blush and smile bashfully. "Are you going to add fairies in there? You know I love them!" The woman would continue with a giggle.

The man hummed. "Maybe," he would start before turning to the little girl in her arms. "What do you think? Should I add some fairies?" He would then question even though he already knew the answer. Her mother would also turn to her, smiling wide as the little girl pondered for a second before practically yelling a big and excited "Yes!" The two adults would then laugh, and although she didn't know what was so funny back then, she would too.

The world felt like it was at its brightest back then. The colors danced around and embraced them with their warmth. She felt secure in that world where her happiness seemed to be endless and where that person was smiling at her, and painted pictures that have a life of their own.

But that world has long since disappeared.

She rubbed her temples and cursed herself for remembering such things. The clock tells her it's exactly one in the morning, and she barely made a dent on her math homework. Sometimes she wonders why she even bothers when she could just bribe Kaito to let her copy his work, like how Usui does.

Shaking her head, she decided that maybe it's time for a much-needed break. There was no way she would be able to finish anything, not when her mind was filled with buried memories. The girl removed the hair tie she used to put her hair in a ponytail before turning off her lamp and walking out of her room.

As she expected the house was extremely quiet.

Her mother had gone to bed hours ago and she could only imagine her under the comfort of her blanket, dreaming of fairy tales only she could think of. She on the other hand was still stuck in this nightmare she calls reality. She quickly cringes at how pretentious that sounded.

The girl's journey to the kitchen was a quiet one. She have no idea what she was going to eat, only mindlessly rummaging through the refrigerator until eventually deciding on eating the cup of pudding she's been saving for a movie night. Maybe it was due to the exhaustion that seemed to always go with those memories, or she just didn't want to walk through that dark hallway again, but she choose to plop in front of the open refrigerator and rip the pudding's lid off.